


Nothing But Ash

by Dangerous_Advantage



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Discusses Mature Topics, Don't worry it's all good, Dreamnotfound Dragon Rider AU, Dreamnotfound Fantasy AU, Excessive Swearing, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Past Thoughts of Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Past Child Abuse/Neglect, Pining, Probably Some Mass Genocide, Psychological Torture, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Violence, We'll see if i actually finish this one, Will add more characters/tags as i go on, bisexual dream | clay, did I mentions DRAGONS, dreamnotfound, everyone's murdered someone in self-defense, holy heckk you don't even know, homosexual gerogenotfound, it was in self defense, lore so much lore, minor instances of murder, oh my god they were ALLIES, prince! dream, reaaaal slow burn, runaways - Freeform, the cats are dragons, their ages are different than irl, these bois gae, they were allies, with a side of angst of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerous_Advantage/pseuds/Dangerous_Advantage
Summary: In Larue, fear is abundant. Mydas, a great yet evil dragon rider, with his Dragon, Nira, has been slowly but surely taking over the continent. His ambition and his army, amassed of Dragon Riders and commoners alike, known as The Corrupted, slowly spread over the towns and cities. No one quite knows who they can trust anymore. Your neighbor, best friends, lovers, even, could be on his side, waiting to betray you or lead you into his forces. It seems there is no one you can truly trust.In the country of Saryn, the King and Queen have been missing for some time. Their eldest child, Darynn, is dead, killed by Mydas in the same attack that stole the rulers. No one truly knows what has happened to the last member of the royal family, who is missing, presumed dead as well, or perhaps taken by Mydas. Little do they know that he is on the run with his dragon, burning with the need for vengeance.Mydas himself holds a secret- his own son, the same age as the orphaned prince, on the run, a weakness he cannot let slip. Yet, his son is not as loyal as he seems. Having bonded with a dragon in secret, he hopes to escape his fathers’ clutches and join society, fighting back his father in revenge for his childhood.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 44





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my one (1) contribution to this fandom.
> 
> I don't know if I'll actually end up finishing it, because I tend to get unmotivated really quickly, but I have a rough idea of where I want this story to go. Please bear with me as I try and explain all of the lore of this universe while moving the plot forward and adding lots and lots of pining. There will be mature topics discussed, such as past child abuse and neglect, torture, mass genocide, and probably lots of violence, so if this isn't your thing, beware. I will update the tags as I go.
> 
> Dream and Georgenotfound have stated that they are okay with being written about in fanfiction, but if they change their minds, I will immediately take this down. If I say or do anything that might be offensive to the CCs in this story, I will change it.

The loud, rich sound of bells rang out across the city, slow and mournful. 

People everywhere, no matter if they were locals or were simply passing through, would recognize the noise, would feel their stomachs drop to their toes. _So the rumors are true,_ they would think. 

Everyone, everywhere, was about to go into mourning. Not just because of the sudden and gory death of their crown prince, but the horrible enigma behind it. How could they just accept that the royal family was either all dead or captured by the great and terrible tyrant, Mydas? How could they know what to do next? Without the ruling family, the kingdom would be shattered, broken into tiny pieces. People would become hungry and scared. One of the last strongholds in the continent of Larue had finally fallen. The people would have very few choices- join the Corrupted, either indirectly or not, or rebel. Out of those two choices, joining up seemed to be safer- rebels were known to be dealt with quickly and painfully. 

As the kingdom settled, filled with horror and grief of this great tragedy, the word spread. _The crown prince is dead,_ the people would say. _K_ _illed by Mydas himself. His dragon captured, it’s wings cut off. The King and Queen are missing. Maybe Mydas took them as well?_

But, some still held hope. There were words spoken in the streets, so quiet no eavesdropper could ever make them out, that spoke of a last shining beacon of hope. That the Kingdom of Saryn might not fall to Mydas, not yet, at least. They were words that were hushed, yet reverent, spoken with quiet excitement. People who had been especially loyal to the crown held them up with shaking fingers like they were fragile enough to break at any moment.

 _The youngest prince,_ they said. _There are rumors- only, hearsay, some claim- that he escaped, and was saved by his own cunning. That he will avenge his brother and parents and end Mydas’ reign of terror._ They were words spoken from weary mouths and chapped lips. Some people refused to believe them, afraid of letting themselves hope. Others clung to them like a lifeline, letting them be a guide in the darkest of nights. Others, still, scoffed and said, _Does it yet matter? The crown prince is dead. All of the royal families’ closest allies have either been slain or, presumably, taken. What can this fickle prince do, even if he is alive? Does it even matter?_

Of course, these were only words passed from person to person. No one truly knew what happened to the youngest prince. Many believed him dead, while others thought he had been taken. Only the steadfast believers thought there was a chance he could have escaped. All in all, it seemed the only future left for the people of Saryn was a grim one, full of evil and horror, controlled by a monster who had slain their beloved princes. 

Yet, the few who believed in miracles would be proved right. It might take some time, and many lives would be lost, but far away from civilization, with muddy boots and a rage-filled heart, was a vindictive prince with hair the color of dark, bronze-gold caramel and pale-green eyes, a haphazard mask thrown over his face to obscure his features, an old nickname slipping from his tongue taking the place of the name everybody else who was living knew him by. In a way, he supposed, the rumors of his death were partially correct. The night that he had lost his brother and parents was the night that the young, naive part of him had perished, leaving nothing but a boy burning with anger and a need for revenge. Prince Clay Saryn was, in his eyes, dead. 

Dream was not. 


	2. Prologue, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rise of Mydas, Part One.
> 
> This STILL doesn't contain any plot, but whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? Fuck it. Might as well post some more. I'm way ahead, so you might get all three prologue chapters, who knows. 
> 
> So I said I was gonna get to George in this chapter but hhhh. I changed my mind. Here's some more lore. Sorry if it's boring lmao.

Mydas had been born in the Raided Mountains, the large mountain range separating the continent of Larue into two parts- the Kingdom of Saryn and the Truica Dynasty. He had lived a life of poverty and sickness, watching his mother waste away as she tried to provide for him and his younger sister. His life was never directly influenced by either of the countries, as the Raided Mountains were technically neutral ground. But, he had seen the merchants that passed through the mountain ranges, their wagons covered in expensive clothes and exotic foods that his family would never be able to afford. It left him with a feeling of inadequacy, bitter water on his tongue. He watched with equal parts envy and longing as they passed, each spring and autumn, selling precious ores from Saryn, books filled with knowledge from Truica, exotic fruits and seeds from The Isles of Cupia and the jungles of Xeposha, as well as the occasional curious talisman from the great deserts of Raidour, handcrafted with magic. 

Perhaps it was seeing all of this wealth that he could never partake, but something left a great, gaping hole inside of him. How could people so easily sell such wonderful things to those who could afford it, and yet, leave him and his family with nothing as if they were mere rats, their lives less important than those in echelons of society? 

On nights when it was cold and he had to snuggle up to his sister and mother to stay warm, he entertained himself with thoughts of wealth and warmth, bellies always full, people respecting him and his family. It was the dream of a simple and unknowingly ambitious boy who wondered what it was like to be able to read and write. Life was hard for him, and the only way out of it was to yearn for something better. Even if something inside of him always assured him he would never be more than a skinny rat in the gutter, he could not help but hope for a better life. 

When he was ten, his sister developed a horrible disease of sorts that gave her fits where she would fall to the ground, spasming and jerking, tiny body shaking with terror and strain. His mother would always sob when it happened, and hold her close, even when she was given a few hits to her jaw and shoulders. Mydas could only watch with a burning need for retribution. Why had his family been given this lot in life? Did they not deserve more? Were they really to never amount to anything except empty bellies and a few spare coins from sympathetic strangers’ pockets? It was hard to be grateful when you had so little, even though it was even more so when you had so much. In this knowledge, he grew to resent those with money and fame and power, thinking them stuck-up and pompous, who cared only for their own well-being. He was not all wrong, of course, but he was not quite right, either. No boy should have to grow up with thoughts of hatred and jealousy. The person crafted by them could never be more than a cold and callous person, who always thought they deserved more than they actually did.

Not that he didn’t deserve more. In fact, maybe if he had been just a bit better off, he would not have grown into the man that he did. Maybe he would have realized it was better to be grateful for all that he had instead of endlessly wanting more. Maybe he would not grow to become a person that he would have resented in his adolescence. 

Yet, these are all only ifs, ands, and buts. Perhaps it truly was a case of fate leading him down the path that he spiraled into, becoming mad with greed, wanting power, money, and respect. But, whatever the case, young Mydas  _ yearned.  _

His yearning, it seemed, would pay off eventually.

When he was fourteen, traversing the mountains in search of food or something else to help earn his family money, so that his sister could be taken to a doctor, he was searching deep in the caves of the highest mountains, when he discovered a small chamber, just big enough for him to crawl inside. He did so, and found himself in a larger chamber, with glowing mushrooms and moss decorating the walls. There was a stagnant feeling about the place as if it had not been visited in a long time. Curious, he went forward, searching a bit about the place. It was magical, he knew, but he wasn’t quite sure what made it so magical- until he happened upon a large, rough-looking rock that was strangely-shaped and strangely smooth as if it was from the sea. He approached it, wondering if he could perhaps sell this strange rock. As soon as his hand touched the smooth surface of it, however, it became clear what it was- a dragon egg, abandoned and alone. A dragon egg that somehow had decided to bond to  _ him.  _

Bonding to a dragon was something that Mydas had never thought would happen to him. It was a fantastical thing that those who had more money and influence had happened to them, not a lowly, skinny child as himself. He wasn’t even sure how it had happened- in his mind, it seemed as if he had always been connected to the dragon, like he couldn’t remember the moment before his hand had touched the glossy surface of the egg and the moment after when he had somehow been bonded to it. 

He stood there, hand still on the egg's smooth surface as the first cracks began to appear, mouth hanging open. At that moment, he had a single thought-  _ everything is about to change.  _

And it did. The little creature eventually clawed its way from the egg, as the sun set, with Mydas watching the entire time. For the first time in his whole life, he felt important. Part of something greater than himself. For the first time, he had the thought,  _ I can be great. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: 
> 
> Everybody has a point in their life where they are struck by an epiphany of sorts. Many have more than one. This moment can influence their future actions, change their worldview, how they perceive themselves and others. This can be any significant moment that means a lot to them. A watershed moment.
> 
> Okay so. Yeah. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments highly appreciated! You do not know how invested in the story your comments make me, and even the smallest things can cause great, big stretches of writing. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just comment something. I'm a sucker for praise and I like knowing that people enjoy my writing. Criticism is allowed, but only if you are doing it to actually help me in my writing abilities and not just tear me down.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and would love to know your thoughts.


	3. Prologue, Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rise of Mydas, part two. This marks the end of the prologue, and plot should start happening in the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, you guys get the first three chapters. Just as a treat. This chapter is just a bit longer and finishes up all the lore you need to know for now. I didn't actually like the final result for whatever reason, but it is what it is.

The dragons’ name was Nira. All dragons have a name, one that only they may ever know, but in the case of bonding, they will share their name with their rider so that it will be known. Sometimes, they prefer it not to be used and their rider will come up with a nickname of sorts. Nobody knows quite where they get these names- it seems as if they are born with them, the first thought in their minds preaching of their identity. 

There is much about dragons and the sacred bond that they can have with a rider that is unknown. Dragons had existed for centuries before humankind's ancestors first crawled from the ocean. Whatever caused the first dragon to bond with a human, and for others to do the same, is unknown and mysterious. In this way, riders who have been bonded must cherish their dragons.

Bonding used to be much rarer in the past, though as the years went by, it slowly became more and more common. Some Truica scientists hypothesized that not all humans have the potential to bond with a dragon and that bonding is only capable because of some strange sort of “thing” certain humans had inside of them. Because dragon riders were seen as important and even magical, they were pushed up onto a pedestal, and more and more began to settle down and have families. Usually, the children of a rider would also have the same magical potential to bond with a dragon. As more and more dragons riders began to have families, more and more people would bond with dragons until it became less of a rarity and more of a common occurrence. People in some places, such as the Kingdom of Solestron and Saryn, seemed to have an even higher chance of bonding with a dragon, while people born in places such as Truica, Atrunis, and the Isles of Cupia had a diminished one. Another important factor to bonding was magic- most humans who had the same potential to bond with a dragon would also have the ability to control magic, in all of its forms. Mastering magic without being bonded, however, was incredibly difficult and tiring, so many people tended to only use it for small, menial tasks. Those who bonded with a dragon and learned how to control a certain type of magic, however, became incredibly powerful, almost unstoppable. Dragon magic became a part of life for so many people that it didn’t seem out of the ordinary at all to see a person light a candle of dragon flame with only a swish of their fingers, or make a wilting plant turn to face the sun once more. Magic became something common, just as bonding with a dragon did.

In light of this, however, several different forms of government from around the world began to recognize dragon riders and bonded people as separate entities. Dragon riders were those who had successfully bonded with a dragon and went out of their way to learn and master the type of dragon magic that they had a greater aptitude towards due to the type of dragon they bonded with. Bonded were simply people who had a dragon and used it for non-magical means. It was a difference that Mydas was very aware of, one he promised to follow so that he would surpass the typical “bonded” label and rise to become a dragon rider. Before he had hoped to move to a city and work, shining shoes to earn some coin for his sister. Now, he had a new goal- become globally revered as a dragon rider. His family was, of course, important to him, and he planned to support them with his newfound fame. 

All in all, his life was looking up. He didn’t want to be rich, exactly. Just powerful. Helpful. Someone to rely on. He was, at this point in his life, a good man. 

But, there is something you must recognize. Everybody has a point in their life where they are struck by an epiphany of sorts. Many have more than one. This moment can influence their future actions, change their worldview, how they perceive themselves and others. This can be any significant moment that means a lot to them. A watershed moment.

This moment of profound influence can change their future in such a way, that if the theory that multiple timelines existed, this moment would stay the same in each one. Whether it causes them to be a better person or a worse one depends entirely on the situation. 

Mydas’ first watershed moment was the day he came home from a week away, gathering ores and various other things to sell at the upcoming merchants’ parade hosted in Saryn. Nira was older then, not quite old enough to fly with him on her back, but old enough that she could not enter the little house. She stayed outside, and Mydas entered, excited to be reunited with his family. 

Only to find them dead. 

He would never find out the real story, what actually happened, but at that moment, everything changed. The world, which had seemed bright and good only moments before, was now dark and evil. An enemy to be slain. His family was gone, and the only things he had left were Nira and himself. 

And so the tale continues. 

First, he went to the king of Truica, begging for help in finding the killers. He wanted justice, retribution for the horrible deaths of his family.

The old king turned him away. His wife was pregnant with their first child and expecting any day. He did not care for the woes of a single rider who had lost his family.

Next, Mydas turned to the King of Saryn. He had heard tales of the goodness and fairness of the king and hoped that his influence as being an upcoming and powerful rider would make the king more giving. Yet, here he was turned away as well. King Damen explained that he could not help if Mydas did not, at the very least, have an idea who might have committed such monstrocities. He sent him away with an apology, yet it did nothing to soothe the burning in Mydas' chest. 

Mydas broke.

In the early hours of the next morning, he swore vengeance on the two countries that had turned him away. At that moment, his watershed had culminated, and he came out of it a vengeful and angry person.

The rest of it is history. He quickly rose to power, hiding his true intentions against the people of Sarynn and Truica. At first, he had only felt the kings and murders were responsible, but soon, he held the whole country at fault for what was done with him. As the kings grew older, and he grew older, he eventually got a wife, a woman he did not truly care about, and at the age of 23, had a child. He cared little about his family members, so engulfed was he by his burning rage at what he soon began to think of as an act that could never be redeemed. He grew power-hungry and malicious, gathering forces in secret. 

At the age of thirty, he fled to the mountains, taking his army and his child. His wife was never found, her fate, a mystery. 

The first attack was when he was thirty-three. By the age of thirty-five, he was feared all throughout the continent of Larue. His army became known as the Corrupted. He became a monster, taking out small villages, known for his lack of mercy. He spiraled farther and farther, pushing the limits and becoming the person he would have hated as a child. He cared for nothing except himself- even his dragon became only a tool for destruction. He was feared and respected, and he enjoyed it.

There was only one, true weakness that he believed he had. It was his son. Although his wife was gone, for whatever reason, Mydas had decided to keep his son around. He hoped that eventually, people would forget that he had a son, and his secrets would be safe. Whatever motivated him to keep his son alive, treated about as well as a prisoner, somehow made his son loyal to him. He himself didn’t understand it. Whatever the reason, his son eagerly followed every word that he spoke. He did his fathers’ dirty jobs. And he never, ever disobeyed.

Yet, all was not quite as it seemed. 

One day, his son left. Disappeared. The only thing left of him was a note, left in his chambers. It read:

_ Mydas, _

_ As you can probably tell, I have left. I do not plan on coming back. I have taken my dragon (yes, I have a dragon) and wish you only harm. _

_ -George _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments highly appreciated! You do not know how invested in the story your comments make me, and even the smallest things can cause great, big stretches of writing. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just comment something. I'm a sucker for praise and I like knowing that people enjoy my writing. Criticism is allowed, but only if you are doing it to actually help me in my writing abilities and not just tear me down.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and would love to know your thoughts.
> 
> Next Chapter:
> 
> He wanted to stay there, then, on his hands and knees, eyes growing increasingly damper. Wanted to shift so that his body was sheltered by the moss and grass, wrapping him up in its dew-moist fingers, enveloping him into the ground until he was nothing more than a memory, an echo in the dying embers of what his life used to be. He didn’t want to think about Darynns’ wild grin and bright green eyes the color of springtime, or his mother's tinkling laugh clashing against his fathers’ big-bellied one. He didn’t want to think of how he was supposed to recover from this. So he didn’t. He let himself feel numb, closed his eyes, and pressed his face into the fresh, green grass, breathing in the scent of cool earth, still wet with condensation from the night before. He let himself pretend that he didn’t have to worry about what would happen when he inevitably woke up again.


	4. The Nameless Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay recounts his time on the run from the palace. Finds out the truth about his parents and that there is a chance they might be fine. He becomes a new person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo boy. You should know, this chapter contains gore and violence, so stay safe out there. I've updated the tags a bit to accommodate future plot points, so those should come into play soon.

The sound of birdsong and rustling branches surrounded Clay as he made his way through the thick woods, pants torn by brambles, knuckles bloodied and bruised, and rough and scratched more than they had ever been in his entire life.

It was not that Clay had never experienced being out in the wilderness. On the contrary, it was one of his favorite ways to get away from the palace, have some time to himself. It was just that he had never done it in the middle of the night, wearing his bedclothes, a light jacket, and his riding boots, full of fear and hatred. He had never felt quite so alone out here, either. 

He wasn’t sure he could remember much about that last night spent in his home before he had been forced to flee, with jarring memories the sight of crimson blood splattering white marble corridors, the sound of people screaming, a last, slow sob as a servant threw themselves between their prince and the cruel man with a sharp-edged sword and dead eyes. Words being thrown at him, as a servant tossed him the jacket and boots and sobbed out the single word,  _ “Run,”  _ before their head was rolling against the ground, a stream of red following in its wake. He knew nothing from his escape except rage and grief and a burning sensation in his heart that felt as if it would swallow him whole. 

He was not sure how long he had run, or in which direction. He did not even remember calling for his dragon Patches, as he fled. Time had become a single line of monotonous greens and greys and black blurring into one another, creating a scene of eerie shadows and heartbreak. 

He had not rested until sometime much later, when he had fallen to his knees, gasping and sobbing, still convinced that they were after him, and he did not have long for this world. After a few moments of ragged breathing and the soft snuffling as his dragon licked some grime from his cheek, he realized he was all alone, except for Patches, and that this was not, in fact, some horrible nightmare, but instead, his new reality.

He wanted to stay there, then, on his hands and knees, eyes growing increasingly damper. He wanted to shift so that his body was sheltered by the moss and grass, wrapping him up in its dew-moist fingers, enveloping him into the ground until he was nothing more than a memory, an echo in the dying embers of what his life used to be. He didn’t want to think about Darynns’ wild grin and bright green eyes the color of springtime, or his mother's tinkling laugh clashing against his fathers’ big-bellied one. He didn’t want to think of how he was supposed to recover from this. So he didn’t. He let himself feel numb, closed his eyes, and pressed his face into the fresh, green grass, breathing in the scent of cool earth, still wet with condensation from the night before. He let himself pretend that he didn’t have to worry about what would happen when he inevitably woke up again. 

But, of course, he did wake up, with Patches curled around him, keeping a careful watch on him, as his chest rose and fell, looking more peaceful than he was sure he would ever feel again. This was his watershed. With the horrors of before still fresh in his mind, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and leaning heavily on Patches. He felt dead, truly. At first, he wondered if he should still be alive at all, if it was truly worth it. Then, he remembered that his parents might still be alive. That there still might be hope.

So, with an aching body, he pushed himself to his feet, still using Patches as a crutch of sorts as he tried to ascertain where he might be. The forests all around Saryn were incredibly different, and it seemed he was in one full of oak and birch trees, and birds that hummed softly from their perches. It was early morning, the sun only a few inches above the horizon, the sky grey with dawn. It was a world of growth and newness, a fitting image for the prince, as he himself felt new as well, his identity scrubbed from him, his body raw and aching. This, he thought, was his new beginning. He was no longer the young prince of Saryn. No, he was alone now, on the run. 

And he wanted revenge.

This particular discovery surprised him the most. He had never been particularly vindictive and had always thought of himself as a forgiving person. But now, the most important thing to him, above everything else, was getting the retribution he was sure that he needed. He thought that if he could just save his country, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so horribly empty and alone. And, the only way to do that, was to see the blood of the bastard who had done this to him dripping from the edge of his sword, a sign of victory in its cruelest form. 

Four hours, he walked. Patches’ wing had been damaged in the fight, or perhaps when he was running for his life, and he did not think it was a good idea to ride her. He also had to take into account that Mydas’ men might be patrolling the skies, searching for him. So, he opted to take the safer (albeit slower) option of walking. He planned to find a village and listen in for news of what had happened. In his mind, everything was muddled. Perhaps the king and queen were alive, and he would be safe to return to his home?

Yet, he had no such luck. Eventually, he stumbled upon a small, quaint village called Inderon. After instructing Patches to stay hidden, he made his way into the city, sneakily, and with what little coin he had left, bought new clothes, a pack to carry supplies in, and a simple mask to obscure the top half of his face, made out of sturdy wood and painted white. Then, he made his way into a bar to listen.

A couple of patrons were having a rather loud conversation at one of the tables, but their words were nothing of note. Just rumors that Mydas was looking for someone, which Clay believed to be himself. The others, however, spoke in hushed tones of the tragedies of three nights prior. 

“They say the king and queen are missing, taken by Mydas himself,” one was saying, as the others regarded them with interest. "The crown prince- he’s dead, that’s what everyone is saying. Nobody knows how it happened, really. One moment everyone was having a fine time, heading to bed, the next, the royal family is all slaughtered.”

“But what of the youngest prince?” another patron asked nervously. “Haven’t you heard? His body was never recovered, and they didn’t see him or his dragon being escorted out by Mydas' guards.”

The third patron spoke, voice raspy and cold. “That’s all hogwash. What’re you sayin’, he might be alive? No way. Mydas got rid of him before he could cause a problem. He’s as dead as my ex-husband!” They let out a crackly laugh at that, which the other two mirrored weakly. 

Clay closed his eyes, taking this all in. He knew he should probably listen for longer, but his stomach was churning like he was about to be sick, so he made a hasty exit, throwing his cloak up over his head and securing the mask to his face. They believed he was dead, along with Darynn. 

When he got back to Patches, he collapsed onto the earthy ground, fundamentally exhausted from everything that had happened in the last seventy-two hours. His parents were missing, presumably taken by Mydas. They could be dead. 

But, there was still a seed of fierce hope in him as he thought of it. They could be, but there was also a chance they were still alive, locked up in Mydas’ fortress somewhere in the Raided Mountains. He sat up, running his fingers over Patches’ pale gold and yellow scales, breathing softly from his nose. He did not feel peace, nor did he feel settled at all by this new knowledge. What he did feel, however, was the burning in his heart, further amplified by the knowledge that he might still have hope, slowly taking over his whole body, until he was nothing but ash.

At that moment, Clay died. His brother was gone, and there was little chance he would get his parents back. The prince he used to be was no more, his legacy ended with a blood-covered sword and a cruel laugh. Clay Saryn was truly gone, and when the country mourned for their lost royalty in the following days, he could be as good as dead.

He knew, however, there was still one thing that anchored him to his original identity. His family, and the new dream that now burned inside of him, that there might still be a way to save them, that he might get retribution and end Mydas’ reign of terror. 

Dream. That was as good a name as any. If Clay was to truly be put to rest, the name had to be forgotten. He was not a prince. He was a runaway, a child who had not yet reached twenty, a person who was going to end the life of the greatest monster the continent of Larue had ever seen. 

As Clay slipped away, Dream pushed forward into the shadows, from the ashes, like a phoenix shedding its old form for a new one. He wanted nothing to do with his new beginnings. He only wanted to feel whole again. 

He was ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you liked this! The next chapter should be a George only chapter, so we'll get to see some more past lore, as well as begin to understand why he left. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments highly appreciated! You do not know how invested in the story your comments make me, and even the smallest things can cause great, big stretches of writing. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just comment something. I'm a sucker for praise and I like knowing that people enjoy my writing. Criticism is allowed, but only if you are doing it to actually help me in my writing abilities and not just tear me down.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and would love to know your thoughts.
> 
> Next Chapter: 
> 
> Now, he was out of there. He was truly out. He glanced behind him and then up into the sky, wondering if, at any second, he would be dragged back to his old prison, but the skies remained clear and blue with early days and the scent of late spring.


	5. Drifting in Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lore is explained, though not much plot. We finally meet George and his dragon, Luca. Secrets are revealed as he plods onwards, into freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Mentions of past abuse and tiny mention of suicidal thoughts
> 
> Hey guys! I'm probably going to have to stop updating so much, mostly because I just got tested positive for COVID-19 and have to focus on my home studies for school, meaning I won't have as much time to write this. I don't plan on abandoning it yet, tho this next chapter is giving me some grief. 
> 
> Anywho, here is some Gogy for all you simps.

George was not used to being so alone.

It was not an unpleasant feeling, he thought, as he made his way through the high, dew-slicked grass of a flowering prairie. Luca ambled slowly behind him, wings pulled tight to her body to try and preserve her inner heat. She was getting big enough that he thought he might be able to start flying with her, but at the moment, he wasn’t sure that was the greatest move. He was on the run, after all, and his father would be scouring the skies for him now that he was aware of his dragon.

In retrospect, he wished he hadn’t mentioned Luca in the note in the first place. She was a valuable asset and would be even more important if he hadn’t made Mydas aware of her presence. Yet, in that moment, he had not stopped to consider the potential ramifications of telling his father. He had been consumed by the fierce pride that he had been able to bond with a magnificent dragon- and not just any dragon, but one that was quite rare, a Whisper dragon. His father had always used Nira to his advantage, as the prestige of having such a rare creature bonded to him not only intimidated others but also gave them a strange sense of twisted admiration. As if his father was anything to be admired. George gritted his teeth, stopping for a moment as anger washed over him. Sensing his change of mood, Luca padded silently up behind him and pressed her warm snout to his back, letting out a hiss of warm air. George closed his eyes, allowing the contact. He was not used to such tender touches- the last hands he had felt were his fathers, and they never brought him comfort. He still had bruises on his sides and back to remind him of that. 

He pushed the stray thoughts from his head. Mydas was a manipulator, a person who used your own words, actions, and specifically, emotions, against you. George had learned to sit still and keep quiet in his youth, and the habit still clung to him, even though he had finally escaped. He hadn’t actually thought he would ever get away, but now that he was out, he was surprised to find that it was so much different than he had ever thought. The time before his father had dragged him into his fortress in the Raided Mountains was a blur of warm emotions that he had not felt in a long time. He couldn’t really remember anything concrete, except for a pair of soft, smiling lips and warm hands, not rough and calloused like his father. That, he supposed, must have been his mother. 

He didn’t want to think about his mother either if he was being honest. It always brought a flush of memories that were so warm and good that he thought he would die every time they faded, leaving him with the awful truth. His mother was dead at his fathers’ hands, and would never be back to brush a hand through his hair or hold him to her chest if he got injured. She almost didn’t seem real, just a made-up fantasy stemming from his youth, an aching child wishing desperately for a comforting hand in the face of so much pain. Sometimes, he thought that he  _ had  _ just made her up, but then his hand would stray to the compass around his neck, the one she had given him, and he would be reassured. 

Luca snuffled against his back and nudged him lightly, pulling him back into reality. He turned to face her, giving her a weary smile, glad the touch had not made him flinch. Luca was the only creature that he thought he could trust. She was gentle and intelligent, and always seemed to know how to help him, as he did her. He supposed it was part of the bond they shared, a bond he would be eternally grateful for. In a way, she had saved him. Before the chance encounter where he had been exploring the underground catacombs of his fathers’ fortress, where he had happened upon a nest with three eggs in it, his life was desolate, lonely, and dragging. As a way to avoid his fathers’ wrath, he had taken the role of a helpful and desperately loyal son, doing whatever his father asked, no matter how horrible. It had saved him a bruised face, at least. It was a last-ditch effort before he truly gave up. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve gone, really. 

But when his fingers brushed the last, smallest egg of the bunch, the others cold and very much dead, a feeling of warmth so stunning had shot through him that he almost passed out. At that moment, George gained something to live for. Luca.

Luca was a Whisper Dragon, and as such, fit the criteria for the species. Although she was born a bit smaller than most Whisper dragons, she shared the smooth, grey, and silver scales, and several pairs of dark, curling horns sprouting from her head, the most prominent being the ones at the crest of her forehead, with two other pairs on the sides of her head. Her body was wrapped in armor-like “sheets” of scales, and she had a long tail with a dark, whip-like feather attached to the end of it. Her wings were simple, with dark spines connecting the pale grey flaps of skin, and her eyes were a pale, misty sort-of brown color. George thought that she was the most beautiful thing he had possibly ever seen. 

From the moment that he smuggled her into his room, he began to plot. George didn’t have much to do in the fortress other than cower and play nice, so he did a lot of reading from his fathers’ private collection. There, he found many books from Truica, full of big words and smart people, as well as guides on the many different types of dragons, what the world of Ryvell looked like, and even fantastical stories of heroes and princesses that looked as if his father hadn’t touched them in a long time. As a result, George was educated in the basics of the world and especially loved learning about dragons, the theories behind dragon riders and bonding, and what made certain dragons so rare and special. There was a great world of knowledge for him to wade through, and it might have been the only thing before Luca that kept him sane. 

On the day that he escaped, he took a few of his fathers’ books, out of spite and rebellion, but also because they comforted him in a bizarre way. Not to mention his mothers' last possession, the only thing his father had kept of her- a large, silvery sword with mystical markings on its blade and handle that George did not have the knowledge to use, but felt obligated to take anyway. He could still see the bright shining gem in his eye, an off-yellow color. 

Now, he was out of there. He was truly out. He glanced behind him and then up into the sky, wondering if, at any second, he would be dragged back to his old prison, but the skies remained clear and blue with early days and the scent of late spring. 

He disliked being out in the open- Luca was quite big and might be easily spotted from a distance- but this part of Saryn (which was where he believed he was currently at) was made up of mostly plains, grasslands, and the occasional marsh, so there wasn't much hope for cover. He had wanted to see some dragons out in the wild, but so far, they had eluded him. He was alright with it, however. He had Luca, and she was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Sensing his thoughts, she chirruped softly at him, pleasure emanating from her. He smiled and stood for a moment, letting her catch up to that he could scratch underneath where her head met her neck, her favorite spot. Her eyes closed in lazy pleasure, and George couldn’t help but smile. Even with everything he had endured, everything he had gone through, he could still enjoy simple moments of pleasure like this. And, he could do it in relative safety, away from his fathers’ villainous clutches. 

He wasn’t really sure what to do now if he was being honest with himself. He continued through the high grasses, alone with his thoughts, while Luca followed steadily behind him, intelligent eyes alert and focused. He took comfort in the fact that she would always have his back, and would never do anything to hurt him in any way. Dragon bonds were mysterious things, but he was glad they existed all the same. 

Eventually, the sun began to steadily rise until it reached its zenith, smiling down from the azure sky. It was warmer now that summer was on its way, but a cool breeze still twisted through the grasses like a serpent, ruffling Georges’ unruly locks. He preferred his hair to be short, but his father wasn’t much for personal grooming, so besides the razor that he packed to keep his face clean, he had no access to instruments that would cut his hair to the length he liked it. It now spilled from his head in unruly waves, falling to just above his chin, long enough to get into his face, but not quite long enough to put up into a satisfactory bun. He spat some of it out of his mouth and sighed.  _ Maybe you should just burn it all off,  _ he thought at Luca, who snorted through their mind link, soft and quiet, a comforting sound. He smiled at his own joke.

The grasses were steadily becoming shorter, and flowers of yellow, pale blue, and what he assumed was orange spotted the ground. He plucked one from its stem, a wild poppy that was a strange, rich color, with dark pollen decorating its insides. He swiped a thumb through it, watchful as it dyed his thumb deep, dusky color, and smiled softly. It made him think of dyes mixed to become paints, the soft smell of fresh canvas, his mothers’ laugh as she swiped some pigment from his chin-

A wave of pain crashed over him at the thought, and he went back to stifling his emotions. From what he could remember, his mother was a painter and a rather important one at that. He had used this knowledge to search high and low for any trace of her, a name, a painting, but had found  _ nothing,  _ every memory of her wiped away by his fathers’ careful hand. He only hated him more for it, for taking such a vital part of who he was away from him at such a young age.

Luca sensed the steady change in his mindset, like storm clouds edging over the horizon, and pressed her face to the side of his jaw again, wrapping herself partially around himself. He hummed in thanks, leaning back onto her and letting her snuffle into his hair, a small comfort. He closed his eyes and smiled, his dark mood ebbing away. He was free and he had Luca. He could do anything he wanted now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, I have COVID and won't be able to update as much, so I'll maybe try and do a double update today... we'll see.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments highly appreciated! You do not know how invested in the story your comments make me, and even the smallest things can cause great, big stretches of writing. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just comment something. I'm a sucker for praise and I like knowing that people enjoy my writing. Criticism is allowed, but only if you are doing it to actually help me in my writing abilities and not just tear me down.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/
> 
> Next Chapter: 
> 
> There was a quiet rustling from the grasses around him, the slow hiss of an arrow being drawn. Fear crashed through Dreams' bloodstream, pumping adrenaline into his sleep-deprived system, and he threw himself to the ground, snarling to Patches through his mind link to run, run away as fast as she could.   
> He had been found.


	6. At A Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More plot set-up. Dream talks about his past, is emotionally constipated, and walks around some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Dream chapter! This should finish up with the preliminaries and lore and plot set up (all that cool stuff) and the next chapter will launch us into the story! I'm having a fun time writing this so far, so I hope you enjoy reading it as well.

Dream wasn’t quite sure how long he had walked for, but he thought that it had to be a considerable time, as it was steadily getting colder. Saryn and Truica were the coldest of all of the countries, but this late in Spring, it was rather nice. 

Grass that reached his ankles hissed softly as he plodded through it, eyes set on the horizon. He hadn’t really thought out a plan yet, of finding Mydas’ fortress or fighting him, but he was sure that he would figure it out by the time he got to the first mountain pass. Besides, he had been to these mountains before, on his fathers’ business trips to Truica. True, they had been riding his fathers’ dragon, and he was mostly asleep for the journey, but he figured it wouldn’t be too hard. Just ice, snow, rocks, and more ice. He was used to the cold from many years spent exploring the forests surrounding his home, though he had been admittedly more prepared, bundled up in a heavy cloak and thick winter gloves, with Patches following close behind. He had been younger then, full of life, with not a care in the world. His biggest worry had been if he would make home in time for dinner.

Dream now yearned for those easy days, memories of a full stomach and happy laughter, as his father told wild tales from before he became king, riding around with his dragon Yvora, doing whatever he wanted. The tales of his adventures were truly wild, and even though he had known his father was prone to exaggerate, he would listen along intently, completely pulled into the stories.

Of course, he reflected, his favorite thing about home was Darynn. The two had always been surprisingly close. Back then, Darynn was always being pulled away for some court meeting with his father or another person of rank, as well as all of the other people who wanted to meet the prince. It was hard not to like Darynn- he was charismatic, funny, and mischievous. On the days when he managed to sneak away from all of the attention, he and Dream would spend their time in the great courtyards of the palace, playing hide and seek and searching the grounds for small trinkets and like like to put into their private “collection,” a small stash of interesting things that they recovered which they hid in a tin bucket in one of the gardeners’ sheds. 

Dream had held Darynn with a regard that only younger siblings who idolize their elder siblings can. To him, Darynn symbolized everything good in the world. He liked being around him and was happy with his lot in life. One day, Darynn would ascend to the throne and Dream would be right there next to him, an advisor perhaps, helping him lead his country and giving him the best advice he could.

But now, those hopes were shattered. Darynn was dead, truly dead, and even if Dream managed to reclaim his kingdom, he was never coming back. 

The thoughts stung as they cut into him and Dream slowed, blinking away the harsh tears that were steadily appearing in his eyes. He did not have time to cry. He had a home to reclaim and parents to save. He could not take any time to feel sorry for himself. 

Patches wound her away around his form, rumbling comfortingly, and he hummed in response. If there was anything to be grateful for, it was his dragon. His father used to teach him and Darynn the importance of keeping the bond between dragon and rider strong. Dragons were incredibly intelligent creatures, however, they would always put the bond first. His father had told them that, in reciprocity, a dragon rider must always put their dragons’ welfare over their own. 

When he had first taught them this lesson, Darynn had only just bonded with his Dragon, Verallia, a Carnelian Dragon. At the time, Dream had thought she was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. So small yet so bright. And  _ loud.  _ His excitement quickly wore off, however, when Darynn began to spend more time with her and less time with him. 

He had asked his father why Darynn wasn’t spending as much time with him anymore, and he had simply laughed and patted him on the back, saying, “You’ll see when you get your own, one day, son,” and Dream had believed him because he knew his father wouldn’t lie to him about something like that.

When he had gotten his dragon, he finally  _ had  _ understood. Patches was a Golden Lyre dragon, a type that was quite common, yet also quite beautiful. He had once hoped he would get a rare or legendary dragon to bond with him, but he was happy with Patches. She was playful and loud and upbeat and was so wonderfully warm as well.

He remembered the first moment his palm had made contact with her egg, the warm glow that filled him that seemed to be emanating from somewhere within the egg. The comforting thought that he would always have someone to watch his back. As she had wiggled her way from her egg, small and new, she had thought her name at him, before asking him to call her a nickname. Her name was special to her. She didn’t want others to misuse it. 

So, he had called her Patches, for the way her scales looked like patches of light flecking the golden floors of the throne room. She also liked to nap in said patches of light, lazily blinking up at him with big, amber eyes. 

Dream loved Patches more than anything else in his entire life. She was a bright blotch of sunlight in a night-darkened world, a bastion of strength and protection. She stood at about eleven feet tall, with mixed golden and pale-yellow scales speckling her body, with some darker, sun-gold scales here and there. Her amber eyes were flecked with undertones of warm browns and hazelnut, and her wings were large and impressive, bigger than some other dragon species’. Her body was smooth and serpentine for the most part, with a long, whip-like tail, ending in a simple tail fin to help her change directions quickly midair. Golden Lyre dragons were known for their strength and impressive flying skills, as well as their pride and lazy attitudes. Although she could be somewhat of a pain to get going, she was overall obedient- although, she did like to have a good time. To her, that was usually sunning herself on a warm rock or patch of floor, but they hadn’t been able to let herself indulge in such pleasures since they had first set out.

Dream wasn’t actually quite sure how long he had been walking for. The days seemed to bleed into one another, sometimes punctuated by the occasional visit to a nearby town to gather more resources or stumbling upon a river and fishing for some good food to eat. The problem was, Dream had long since run out of coin, and so going into towns, he had to either work for a measly amount of coin or steal. He found stealing was easier (and faster) but also riskier, too. He wasn’t the most skilled at this newfound job as a pickpocket, and he had almost gotten caught several times. He hoped he would learn to be better, or he might get his hands cut off sooner rather than later.

Still, he did have his fair share of luck. His best steal yet was a simple sword, nothing too dramatic, that he could use in a pinch. Darynn had taught him how to use a sword, back when they were together in the palace. Dream remembered their lessons with a simple warmth that rose in his heart, a light-hearted thing that Darynn had always been able to inspire in him. 

Darynn was good at that kind of thing. Inspiring people. Dream remembered standing across from him in the courtyard, a heavy sword held awkwardly in his hand as he looked across at his brothers’ grinning figure, somehow elegant and dangerous at the same time. His hair, much darker brown than Dreams,’ blew gently in the cold, northern winds, and he had easily tossed the sword between his right and left hand, advancing slowly.

_ “Come on Clay, hit me,”  _ he said, sounding gentle and confident at the same time, that playful aura dancing around him like butterflies.  _ “You know the basics.”  _

Dream had gripped his wooden sword in a shaking hand and carefully advanced, but before he got too close, Darynn came up to meet him with a simple thrust, easily knocking his sword from his hand. Feeling equal parts embarrassed and impressed, he stepped back, putting his hands up. Darynn had laughed in that warm, playful way of his, and Dreams’ embarrassment had all but vanished. Darynn had a way of making you feel accepted and understood by just  _ being.  _

_ “It’s okay, little brother,”  _ he had said warmly.  _ “You're still a novice. I was once, too. You’ll get better, with time.”  _ Then, he had stepped forward, picked up Dreams’ discarded wooden sword, and offered it to him, blade pointed to himself.

Darynn had been a man of fairness and strength, a person who enjoyed giving others the things that he had an abundance of. He liked to go into town to visit the people and give them little gifts, like coins or flowers from the palace gardens. The city girls especially loved it when he visited, showering him in attention, dancing around him, and laughing while he watched them with a warm look in his eye. He would let the children come up and pat Verallia, and do little magic tricks, like make dragon fire dance between his fingers or make tiny shapes with red-orange flames. He had always been so good at magic, so naturally gifted in a way that Dream was not. Dream always thought it was because he was the heir to the throne. He was okay with that explanation.

Now, he was just... gone. No more teasing jokes, playful laughs or yells of, _"I'll race you!"_ shouted from one brother to another in the courtyard. 

Dream missed Darynn so much. It did not seem fair that his wonderful, just and empathetic brother should be subject to such a horrible fate. That out of everyone in the royal family, he had to be the first to die. If anything, Dream would have rather himself died instead. He wasn’t King material like Darynn was. He was just the second son, helpful but happy with his rank. He didn’t want the responsibility of the kingdom any more than he had wanted Darynn to die. 

But, as his father had said on more than one occasion,  _ “We do not choose our destiny, destiny chooses us.”  _ Dream had always found the words to be inspiring, but now they felt fake, uncaring. Like he was simply another tool to be used at fates’ disposal.

Patches huffed at him from where she was walking and he looked up, surprised to see the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. Dream blinked in surprise; he had not realized so much time had passed. 

He turned to where Patches was waiting, now laying in the grass, trapping a few wildflowers beneath her great claws. He smiled wearily at her, the set about setting up a makeshift camp, putting out his sleeping pad and pillow from his pack, and starting a small fire with his makeshift understandings of dragon magic. He could probably just ask Patches, but he was feeling bad about himself, so he didn't. He kept his belongings close to him as he set about making himself ready for bed, brushing his hair, and shaving using a small mirror and razor that he had nabbed in a nearby town. He hummed softly to himself as he worked, an old habit meant to calm him down, before finally settling into bed. His eyes played across the star-spattered heavens above, heavy with exhaustion, and Patches curled herself around him, pressing her snout into his side.

He battled with his exhaustion for a while as he stared up at the sky, tracing the different constellations with his eyes and trying to recall the stories that went with each one. Eventually, however, he drifted away, eyes fluttering closed until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

A few hours later, his eyes fluttered back open, eyebrows creasing as time trickled back into his mind. For a moment, he waited, wondering what could have awoken him, until, suddenly, his eyes flew open with renewed vigor and he sat up, heart racing, ears straining. 

Everything seemed silent and unbroken, an endless night of rustling grasses and various bugs chirping quietly. For a second, Dream was sure he was overreacting, but after a moment of straining his ears, he thought he heard… but it couldn’t be.

Patches snuffled softly into his side, waking up from a bleary sleep. He patted her for a moment, listening. Nothing. He let out a soft sigh and relaxed his muscles. He was just overreacting, that was all. They were alone.

But-

There was a quiet rustling from the grasses around him, the slow hiss of an arrow being drawn. Fear crashed through Dreams' bloodstream, pumping adrenaline into his sleep-deprived system, and he threw himself to the ground, snarling to Patches through his mind link to run, run away as fast as she could.

He had been found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dream: "I will walk right into that fortress and cut off that bitches' head, easy peasy!!!! (:"
> 
> The person that found him: "Are you sure about that?"
> 
> \--------
> 
> As always, kudos and comments highly appreciated! You do not know how invested in the story your comments make me, and even the smallest things can cause great, big stretches of writing. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just comment something. I'm a sucker for praise and I like knowing that people enjoy my writing. Criticism is allowed, but only if you are doing it to actually help me in my writing abilities and not just tear me down.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and would love to know your thoughts.
> 
> Next Chapter:
> 
> With surprising speed, George found himself pinned to the ground, a sword at his throat, staring up into the uncaring face of a white mask, obscuring its wearers’ features.   
> In a surprisingly youthful voice, the stranger spoke, voice full of malice. His tone was surprisingly low and rumbly, giving George the impression of maturity, something that did not seem to fit the man before him.   
> “Who are you and what are you doing here?”


	7. Intersecting Legacies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally meet. I'm gonna be honest, I kind of hate it here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There is some major character injury in this one, as well as minor murder (lmao) and graphic depictions of wounds, so be careful. 
> 
> Basically, this is where the story starts movin' and groovin'! These bois will have a lot to go through, but I'm excited about where this story is going so far, and hope you guys are, too!
> 
> This is a longer chapter, so I hope it's okay. It's not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own!

George padded carefully through the shallow grasses of the flowering plain, Luca following carefully behind him. Night had fallen over the landscape, and his vision was washed with shadows, a landscape of darkness that he strained to see through. 

He walked, half-crouching, eyes alert. There was something strange about tonight, he thought. He wasn’t sure what it was, couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but he could feel it, humming through his bloodstream like a poison of sorts, keeping his eyes open and awake. 

Luca whined from a little bit behind him. She wasn’t one to complain much, but she did value her sleep. George hummed back at her, acknowledging her, yet pushed forward.  _ Just a bit farther,  _ he thought at her.  _ Then we can go back to sleep.  _

Luca grumbled tiredly, yet continued on. She was going to be grumpy tomorrow, he could already tell. He knew he should just make camp and go back to sleep, yet something kept him pushing forward, a small sensation in his mind telling him to keep going, just for a little bit longer. 

It was really beautiful out, he considered thoughtfully, tipping his head back to take in the stars. He had always been interested in constellations, yet he simply couldn’t reconcile the images of animals and creatures that he had seen in books with the actual stars they were supposed to be made up of. They were just sets of white dots in an overlap of velvet sky. 

As he moved, his body as lithe as a feline, bending and waving like one of the grasses that twisted around his ankles, he found himself listening intently. There was something different about the sounds tonight like he was hearing them for the first time. He pushed forward, crouching a little, eyes darting back and forth. Silent. Untouchable beauty.

Then, from somewhere across the plains, came a loud and angry  _ snarl,  _ and a burst of flame lit the sky in a wild abundance of light. George flinched back, eyes wide, but Luca was at his side already, alert and focused. There was a yell from the direction of the flame, and he saw an arrow fly up into the sky, followed by the wild clash of swords. He froze, unsure of what to do, but Luca, it seemed, had other plans. 

With a proud roar that seemed bigger than herself, she leaped into the sky, her wings cresting down, down, sending a wave of air to flatten the grasses beneath her as she took off. George was after her in seconds, mouth pressed into a frown of concentration.  _ This  _ was what he had been waiting for, that much he was sure of, yet he still didn’t know why.

He sprinted after Luca, getting to the scene of conflict just in time to see Luca leaping forward and grabbing a man with a large bow and arrow that was crouching on the ground, bow held at the ready to shoot. Across from him, a large, Golden Lyre dragon snarled its aggravation, an arrow sprouting from its side. His eyes swam over the scene, picking out the final member of it- a man, blending in seamlessly with the shadows, a sword in hand, and a white mask thrown up over his face so that George was unable to see his features. 

George stepped out of the grass, his mothers’ sword held unsteadily in his hand. He felt the gaze of the masked man land on him and, noting that the bowman seemed to have been successfully knocked out by 400 pounds of reptilian scaliness, crouched to the ground, setting his sword aside to show that he was not a threat. He was unsure what the next best move would be, but he didn’t have to worry about it, as it seemed the masked man made his choice for him.

With surprising speed, George found himself pinned to the ground, a sword at his throat, staring up into the uncaring face of a white mask, obscuring its wearers’ features. 

In a surprisingly youthful voice, the stranger spoke, voice full of malice. His tone was surprisingly low and rumbly, giving George the impression of maturity, something that did not seem to fit the man before him. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the masked man snarled. George could almost imagine his lips curling up into a cold sneer and suppressed a shiver. That was what his father did, not this random stranger. 

“I was just passing through,” George said weakly. “My dragon and I- we were heading back towards the towns of Saryn. There aren’t any close to here, do you know?” He attempted to keep his tone light, joking.

This seemed to give the stranger pause. Pressed this close to him, in the silence of the night, George could feel the masked mans’ heart thudding quickly in his chest, slowing down ever-so-slightly. It was a very intimate position, and Georges’ cheeks flamed. This was the closest he had been to a human being since- well, since before his father. 

He swallowed heavily, and the man spoke again, voice low and menacing. “Listen-  _ hey,  _ listen,” he said. “I am going to ask you some questions and you are not going to lie to me. Do you understand?” 

George nodded shakily, wincing as the blade dug deeper into the soft flesh of his neck. 

“Okay. Okay.” Strangely, it almost felt like this man was trying to somehow assure himself as much as he was trying to seem tough. This knowledge relaxed George ever-so-slightly, and he felt himself go limp in the masked mans’ grasp. He was incredibly vulnerable, but somehow, he had the feeling that this man would not kill him. 

The man cleared his throat as if realizing a mistake and continued. “Do you- are you a part of the Corrupted?” he asked, voice falling to a low growl. George felt his muscles lock up with stress again. 

Was this a test? He couldn’t know whether this man was working for his father or not, but the idea of lying and saying he was part of his fathers’ army seemed so abhorrent to George that he knew he could not lie. He would never willingly work for his father again.

“No. I- no,” George said. The man’s hold on him tightened, and George swallowed, realizing that he was very close to his own death. In order to make his story more believable, he spoke again. “I- I used to be,” he admitted lowly, and it was as close to the truth as he would ever get. “But- but Mydas, he took something from me.  _ Someone.  _ And I- I couldn’t forgive him for it. S-so, I’ve left now, and never, ever plan on going back.”

George knew he had said the right thing when the man slowly let go of his collar and pulled away from him, standing to consider him from above. Neither of them spoke for a moment, before the masked man broke the silence again, voice low and rhythmic as the grass brushing against Georges’ back. 

“I’ve always considered myself a good judge of character,” the man spoke, voice deadly soft, “and for this, I have decided to spare you. I do not think you are lying, stranger.” 

George nodded quickly. “I’m not, I’m not-” he assured him but was cut off again as the man held up his hand. 

“I will admit,” he said softly. “You may have saved my life. I do not know who that man was, or what he wanted-”

George glanced at the now unconscious bowman that Luca was now towering over, eyes taking in his outfit. He said easily, “He’s a raider, a type of person that works for my- Mydas. They work to steal dragons and kidnap riders to be taken into the Corrupted. He probably planned to try and force recruit you.”

The masked man looked down at George once more, tapping his foot softly, as if he were thinking. George cringed at his own words. What if this masked man interpreted them as a way for George to seem smarter or more dominant in this situation and punished him for it? What if-

“What rank were you in Mydas’ army?” the man asked, unexpectedly. George paused, wondering what he should say.

“I was pretty high up, I think…” he said. “I was, um, an advisor. Kind of. And a healer. For dragons.” George knew quite a lot about healing dragons from all of the books he had read, as he had wanted to learn as much about them as possible, so the lie seemed believable. 

The man watched him for a moment longer, before slowly extending a hand out towards George. It took him a moment to realize that he was meant to take it, and when he did, the taller man pulled him to his feet in a single movement that left George stumbling ever-so-slightly. This man was  _ strong.  _

_ “ _ What is your name?” asked the masked man. George swallowed carefully. Seeing no reason to lie, he said, meekly, “George.”

“Is that all?” George could imagine him arching an eyebrow as he spoke, punctuating his careless-seeming words. 

“I- um, Stewart, George Stewart,” George quickly lied. His own fathers’ last name was not well-known, but he refused to take chances. The masked man seemed to accept this, nodding. 

“And your dragon?” he asked.

“Her name is Luca,” George admitted. The masked man nodded, accepting this, but stayed quiet. An awkward silence fell over the two of them for a moment, before the masked man cleared this throat and spoke, looking away. George couldn’t help but notice how much younger he suddenly looked, how much more unsure. He wondered who this person really was, what he was doing here. 

Carefully, George asked, “May I ask… what your name is?”

“Does it matter?” the masked man responded, tipping his head to the side. A lock of long, golden-brown hair slipped out from behind and his mask and cloak. He didn’t bother to sweep it away. 

George had to admit that it really probably didn’t. But he was still curious. “No,” he answered. “But would it hurt to tell me?”

The man huffed a strangely soft laugh, before leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. George had realized how close they had been getting and took a step back himself. 

“I go by Dream,” the masked man answered. “My dragon… she likes to be called Patches.”

“She’s very pretty,” said George, eyes skipping to where she was waiting, bundled in the grass a few feet away from them. The arrow stuck out of her side, looking red painful, a short line of blood oozing from where it made contact with her scales. George frowned sympathetically at her. 

“She’s been hurt, poor thing,” he murmured softly, and Dream turned immediately as if George’s words had reminded him. His fist clenched around the handle of his sword, and George could almost see the anger in his tense form.

“Bastard…” mumbled Dream under his breath, making his way over to her. George watched him for a moment, his mouth pressing into a frown as Dream dropped to his knees, one hand going to curl around the arrow, the other to rub at her side. Guessing what Dream was thinking, he stepped forward.

“Wait! You don’t- you shouldn’t pull that arrow out yet,” he said. Dream froze, before slowly turning to look at him. George wondered, briefly, how he could see out of the white-wooded mask, before continuing, “It’s keeping her from bleeding out everywhere. I have some extra resources if you want. I could help her.”

Dream seemed to think about this for a second, sitting back on his heels. A little bit away, Luca grumbled in warning, the bowman beginning to twitch. Both Dream and George looked at where she was standing, pinning him to the ground before Dream let out a soft sigh.

“I don’t trust you,” he said, rising to his feet and pulling his sword back out of its sheath where he had placed it. “But you saved my life, and if you were planning to kill me, I think you would have done it anyway. So… I guess if you can help her.”

“I won’t hurt her, I promise,” George said, strangely relieved as he walked over to the great, golden dragon. She blinked glassily at him, and he realized she must have been in much more pain than either she or Dream had let on. George’s mouth pressed down into a worried frown. That couldn’t be good. Usually, arrows were nothing to dragons. 

He knelt down and rubbed carefully by the spot. Patches let out a grumbling groan, wincing slightly, and George's frown deepened further. “Bad news,” he said. “I think this arrow is poisoned.”

_ “What?”  _ snapped Dream’s voice, suddenly full of fury. The speedy change of mood surprised George, making him flinch in preparation for a hit that wasn’t going to come. He hoped Dream hadn’t noticed. 

“Yeah, I- I think I can get it out and clean the wound, though,” George said. “Then, I might be able to tell what she was poisoned with.” In preparation, he pulled out his aid kit, assembling a line of dragon scale bandages he had nabbed for emergencies and a small, sharp knife to make the extraction easier, if necessary. 

Patches watching him warily, and he placed a hand on her side, comfortingly. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ll make it fast.” This was his first time doing anything like this, and although he could easily remember what he was supposed to do in the situation, his hands shook with nervous worry. 

He tried to ignore what was going on behind him- George had never liked violence, even though he had experienced a lot of it in his short life. Maybe that was why he hated it so much.

Swallowing thickly, he shook his head. He had to be focused, there wasn’t time to reminisce about a past he wanted to leave behind. Carefully, he gave a gentle pull on the arrow, gratified when it slid out easily. It looked like he wouldn’t have to use the knife after all.

Patches huffed out a growl of pain and he rubbed her side consolingly, putting the arrow to the side and examining the wound. It seemed whatever had been on the arrow made the entry point look infected and gross. Pus already was beginning to well from the injury, smelling sour and sickly. He wondered if they could use any herbs from around the campsite to dress her wounds. There were a few medicinal herbs in this area if he remembered correctly. There might be some used to treat infection, which George assumed would help heal the wound. 

Still, he had to figure out what the poison  _ was  _ first. Carefully sealing the wound with a few temporary dragonskin bandages, he picked up the arrow and looked it over. Even through the gore on the arrowhead, he could see a bit of a tint on the point, but it was hard to make out its properties in the low light.

“There’s something on here, but I can’t tell what it is, exactly,” George called out to Dream. “It’s hard to see in the dark.”

“On the arrow?” Dream clarified, his voice much closer than George had thought it would be, causing him to jump. Dream padded up to stand next to where he was crouching, mask still as lifeless as ever. George simply nodded.

There was something about this man that intimidated him, and it went far past the mask and his hunter-like clothing. No, it was something in the tone of his voice that unknowingly demanded attention, praise, and submissiveness. This was a man that was used to getting what he wanted, expected it. It simultaneously made George respect and dislike him, wanting to do what he asked while rebelling against it all the same. He frowned. It was alike to his father, but not quite. His father had to try hard to make people fear and love him. Dream didn’t even try. 

“Let me take a look at it,” Dream commanded, and George handed him it without a second thought, before immediately flushing and looking away. That was it. His father had to earn his respect, but Dream was born with it. George couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of curiosity at that. Who was this man, and what was he really doing here?

“I think it’s a sort of dragon venom- I’m not very familiar with many though,” Dream admitted, handing George back the arrow. George internally chastised himself. He should have realized that. Now, it was easy to tell that it was a type of Salvia's Splendor poison, one that was used quite a lot by his father for its undetectability and few side effects. 

“Of course, I should have realized,” he mumbled, before clearing his throat and saying, “You’re right. This is from a Salvia's Splendor if I’m correct. Mydas tends to use it a lot. It paralyzes its victims in small doses, and there are few side effects. There’s nothing I can do for now, except wait for it to leave her system.”

“How long will that take?” Dream sounded genuinely worried. George wondered if it was because he had something pressing he needed to do or because he was actually worried about Patches. George hoped it was the latter.

“It depends on the dose- I can’t be sure, but I think maybe two or three days,” he said, standing to face Dreams’ featureless form. “Most I can do is keep her comfortable and feed her and stuff like that. She’ll be okay, she’ll just fall asleep for a while.”

“Are you sure?” Dream asked. “There aren’t any complications?”

“Not in such a small dose,” George assured him. Dream let out a huff of breath.

“All right,” he said. “I guess I’m stuck here for a bit then.” Then, after a moment of silence, he added a small, “Thank you. I- you didn’t have to help me. I guess… if you want, you can stay the night here. I have some food that I’d be willing to share.”

George saw nothing wrong with this proposition, so he shrugged and said, “Sure, why not? It’s pretty damn late, anyway.”

Something about this seemed to relieve Dream, and he let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yes, alright,” he murmured, mostly to himself, before gesturing to his campsite. “Um, you can sleep on the other side of the fire with your dragons, I guess.” Suddenly, his form became tense.

“Just know,” he said, “I know you don’t know how to use that sword, and just because my dragon is a little out of it does not mean I can’t protect us just fine. If you try anything, I will kill you.” 

George could tell Dream was being very sincere, so he nodded quickly. “Of course, of course,” he said, neutrally, mentally calling Luca to come over and join him. He hoped she didn’t have any of the bowman's blood on her. That would be a bitch to scrub off.

He then wondered why he was such a fucked-up human being, but cut his thought process off before he started spiraling. He might as well set his bed out.

Luca was, thankfully, still clean, though the soldier was nowhere to be seen. George didn’t want to know what had happened to him. He set up his sleeping space, then enjoyed a silent meal with Dream, each watching each other from across the warm campfire that Dream had revived. It was a simple trout, but it was the freshest thing George had eaten in days, and Dream had seasoned it somewhat well, so George thought it was a win. 

After, George lay on his bed, staring up at the starry sky. During the night, he got up to redress Patches’ wound, but other than that, it was surprisingly peaceful. The sound of Dreams’ soft breaths from across the campfire and his mostly full belly settled him. George hadn’t known that being with another human being (albeit one who did not trust him and could probably kill him somewhat easily) could be so peaceful. It was kind of nice, actually, knowing there was someone else here who would probably have his back if push came to shove.

George let his eyes flutter close to the sight of the flickering campfire, Dream lying awake on his bedspread, one hand stretched out to rub at Patches’ side. Everything felt strange and different in a way George couldn’t quite comprehend yet, but George didn’t think it was necessarily bad.

In fact, it felt like a fresh start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I think it’s funny to note that while researching poisons for this chapter, did you know that mandrake can increase interest in sexual activities??? I did make up the poison used in this chapter, but I couldn’t find one to fit Patches’ wound, as the bowsman was only using it to paralyze and didn’t want it to be deadly. Probably the closest I could get was Asp Venom but there is not always a guarantee of surviving said infection.)
> 
> \--------
> 
> As always, kudos and comments highly appreciated! You do not know how invested in the story your comments make me, and even the smallest things can cause great, big stretches of writing. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just comment something. I'm a sucker for praise and I like knowing that people enjoy my writing. Criticism is allowed, but only if you are doing it to actually help me in my writing abilities and not just tear me down.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and would love to know your thoughts.


	8. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep-deprivation with the boys! George and Dream dance around each other and Dream is a big drama queen. I also use the term, 'caught off guard' way too much in this chapter, but I can't find it in myself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyway, this took a long time lmao. I have been steadily working on this, and future chapters and my update schedule is going to be a bit crazier. I’m not sure when the next chapter is coming out, but I do not plan to abandon this story! I have spent a lot of time with the world-building (like, a LOT of time) and plotting out what I want to happen, and I don’t want that to go to waste. That being said, as I have successfully recovered (ish) from COVID and am no longer sick, I am going to be adjusting to normal life once more and so my time online will be sporadic. I am so grateful to everyone who is reading this story and enjoying it. That is basically all I could ever ask for! Thanks for reading, and I would love to know your thoughts on the story so far!  
> With that being said, onto the next chapter!

Dream didn’t sleep that night.

He lay awake, hand outstretched as he comforted himself with the rough feeling of Patches’ scales. He didn’t take his mask off. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want George to know his identity, or because the mask somehow made him feel safer, imperturbable. Either way, the mask stayed on, obscuring his face from the strangers’ gaze. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he was getting used to it. 

He wasn’t sure what he thought about this situation. On one hand, George had saved him and had successfully (or, at least he hoped) diagnosed Patches with Salvia's Splendor venom. Not to mention the fact that he allegedly had a reason to hate Mydas as much as Dream. 

But Dream couldn’t know if George was telling him the whole truth. He had always thought of himself as a good judge of character, yet something about George perplexed him.

He wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing, however. 

As night ebbed away into a milky sunrise, Dreams’ eyes stayed open all night, thinking. George seemed to be a higher-up in Mydas’ army, so there was a good chance that he had knowledge of the insides of Mydas’ fortress. If he was able to convince him, perhaps George could give up the information…? George also seemed skilled in healing and had some good resources. Dream chewed on his lip thoughtfully. He couldn’t help wondering… but, no. That wasn’t a good idea. He had no idea if he could truly trust George. This could even be an elaborate set-up, even though Dream acknowledged that the probability of that was incredibly low. 

Across the small “camp,” he heard the soft sigh of fabric being pushed away, a low groan hissing from between George’s teeth. Dream tilted his head to the side just in time to see George begin to stand, arms high over his head as he stretched. In the milky, dawn light, he looked like a ghost, pale and undefined in the mist. 

The label fit well. George had the strangest way of doing things, always looking to Dream as if for permission before completing the most basic of tasks, always glancing around himself carefully like he was reminding himself of possible escape routes, or simply reassuring himself that he was safe. Dream assumed it was from being in the Corrupted- he had heard many horror stories from those who had turned their backs on the army. 

Dream pulled himself up from his own sleeping pad, glancing towards Patches, who was slumbering peacefully. He couldn’t remember the time that she had finally succumbed to the venom the night before, but he had remembered feeling a certain sense of fear and self-isolation as her consciousness had drifted away. He was at a disadvantage without her, and George could have just been faking his inadequacy at using swords. The blade he had been carrying looked ancient and important, and very powerful. Dream was almost jealous. 

His own sword had been left at the palace, most likely taken by Mydas. The thought of it made him simmer with anger. Both of the princes had smithed their own swords at the age of sixteen, a right of passage of sorts. Dream remembered how excited he had been, how he and his father had gone out to the mines to find all of the different materials, which gem would be fit into its hilt, what material it would be made out of. They had chosen Vyvanine, a powerful metal that many used for swords. It was known for its razor-sharpness and durability, although it needed to be sharpened frequently. He remembered the sweltering days spent in the palace black-smithery, shoveling coal into the furnace, adjusting the temperature, and watching as the metal glowed red hot. It took a few tries, but eventually, he ended up with a shining silver blade, it’s metal hissing as it was poured into the mold and pushed into the cool water, where it would cool to become the sword he knew and loved. The hilt was more difficult, in his opinion, but it had been worth it, it’s dark grey with a misty green gem set in its middle. 

He had loved that sword. It was the first thing he thought that he could really call his own. Now, just like the rest of his old life, it was gone, taken by Mydas. He was sure of it now. It was a work of art, his father had told him. Anyone would be lucky to have it. 

From across the fire, George crouched next to his pack, his hair falling in front of his face. His fingers came up to brush it away, but to no avail, as it immediately fell back in front of his eyes. Dream blinked, realizing he was staring, and looked away, adjusting his own mask, shivering slightly. He wasn’t sure what to do now. The silence that had seemed incredibly easy only moments ago now seemed strained and awkward. Dream had the urge to clear his throat but thought that would only make it worse, so instead, he busied himself with the campfire, using two rocks to light it and adding tinder as he went. He wasn’t quite as proficient at making fires as Patches was, but he wanted to make himself useful.

Something soft and sweet whistled from between Georges’ teeth, catching Dream off guard. He looked up, the fire making shapes dance on Georges’ face in the low light of morning. It was a simple tune, a reminder of childhood. 

George seemed to realize he was being watched and glanced up, his humming slowing to a stop. “What?” he asked, and once again, Dream was reminded of just how strange this man was. It was easy to forget, but every time he spoke, the soft timbre of his voice gave him away as a stranger. Dream couldn’t help but wonder where he was originally from. Perhaps he was from Truica- he knew some of the citizens of Truica still kept their old accents from the time before the revolution where a king took over from the total anarchy, but he had never heard one before. It made him wonder even more about George. Who was he, really? 

To distract himself from his runaway thoughts, he asked, “Breakfast?” George glanced up, warm brown eyes sparkling in the light of the growing flame. 

“More fish?” George asked, but it sounded more like he was trying to fill the space between them with words than an actual try at conversation.

Dream shook his head. “No, sadly. No way I could stop it from spoiling.” He grimaced, remembering when he had first made that mistake. He thought he could still smell a whiff of rotted fish on his clothing if he really tried. 

“Ah,” said George. “Should have thought of that.”

The camp regressed back into silence, more noticeable than before. Dream wanted to clear his throat more badly than before but thought that would just make things worse. Instead, he turned to his back and fished out a pouch of dried jerky. “This is the last of my reserves,” he admitted, shaking some out onto his hand and tossing the rest of the back to George, who struggled to catch it. 

“You don’t have to feed me, you know,” George said. “I do have food of my own.” 

Dream shrugged. “You're a guest,” he said simply. “It wouldn’t be very polite of me to refuse you food.”

At this, George laughed. Dream was surprised by the sound; it was lighter than he had imagined, playful. “Who would have thought? A proper gentleman,” George said, smiling broadly. The expression turned his face strangely childlike, the angles of his face less cutting.

Dream huffed, but it was more of a laugh than anything else. He had missed this- the easiness of being with someone else. George was surprisingly easy company. 

George’s words seemed to thaw out the awkward tension around them, and they soon fell into conversation. The jerky was depressingly bland, but Dream found he didn’t mind too much.

“So, what are you doing out here?” asked George, leaning back as he worked on some of the tough meat. Dream shrugged. 

“I guess you could say I have a mission of sorts,” Dream answered vaguely. George’s eyebrows rose, but he continued on, not pushing for an answer. 

“A mission, hm? What, from the king?” George asked, smiling. 

Dream fidgeted. “You could say that,” he conceded. “I mean, yeah.” It was a mission _for_ the king, seeing as he planned to save him. For the queen as well. “Not from him though, seeing as-well, you know.” 

George frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Dream shrugged. “Well- I plan to save him, I guess.” Dream winced at how freely he had spoken of his mission. He glanced up at George, looking for something to give him away as an aggressor, but found only confusion on his features.

“Save him? What, is he in trouble?” asked George. Dream blinked beneath his mask, stunned. 

“What- don’t you know?” Dream asked, unexpected heat rushing into his tone. 

George slowly, slowly shook his head. Dream didn’t think he was lying.

“Mydas- he took him and his wife and- and killed the heirs,” Dream half-lied, gritting his teeth. It was painful to say the words, to hear his own voice say something that sounded so fundamentally  _ wrong  _ to his own ears. The painful rush of memories that accompanied them wasn’t incredibly nice, either. 

George looked shocked. 

“He’s- that’s impossible! I would have- he would have told me…” George said, weakly. “How could he…?”

George sounded almost hurt. A flash of anger burst through Dreams’ mind.

“I thought you hated him,” he snapped, his hands pressing into fists.

George blinked, processing Dreams’ words. “Of course I do,” he said weakly. “I just- you caught me off guard, is all.”

Dream’s mind was instantly full of questions. He held them on his tongue, one breath away from letting them fall from his lips, poisoning the air around them. Before any of them could escape, however, George was speaking again.

“I’ll be completely honest with you Dream,” he said, a bit nervously. “This- well, this is my first time outside of the fortress in a very, very long time. I’m not really educated on recent events.”

This only served to inspire more questions on Dreams’ tongues, but he managed to keep them to himself. George looked so unsure, starkly lit up against the background. 

Carefully, carefully, George spoke again. “So, you plan to save them? How, exactly?”

Dream bristled, anger still coloring his decisions and making him needlessly reckless. “Why would I tell you?” he snapped. 

George looked down. From behind him, Luca stirred, padding up to him and resting her snout carefully on his shoulder. He leaned into her, practically imperceptible, his eyelashes fluttering. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I’m just trying to make conversation, I suppose.” He looked away, finding a place on the ground to stare at. 

Silence stretched out between them, like a large, dark river. Dream felt like he should say something, but he was still annoyed. He glared into the flames of the fire beneath him, watching it crackle and park, before glancing up to look at George again. He was watching the fire as well, his eyes full of embers. He spoke, his voice soft as shadow.

“You know, I could help you,” he offered. “If you really are trying to take out Mydas. I was telling you the truth when I said I hated him.” His eyes narrowed into an expression of deep loathing. “I hate him more than I’ve hated anyone in my entire life.”

Dream considered these words. “You trust me enough to make that offer?” he asked blandly. George shrugged. 

“I wouldn’t say I trust you, exactly. It’s more of an alignment of mutual interests,” he murmured, still not meeting Dreams’ eyes- or, where his eyes would be without the mask. 

“And if I said yes?” Dream asked. George finally looked up, but his form was hunched, the look of submission.  _ He’s intimidated,  _ thought Dream, but it was deeper than that. 

Before Dream had time to further think it through, George spoke. 

“Then I would join you?” he said, sounding puzzled. Dream was caught off-guard for a moment at Georges’ strangely naive words, not understanding, before letting out a loud laugh. 

“I meant,” he clarified, “what would this partnership entail?”

“Oh!” said George. “Besides taking out Mydas? Um-”

“No, no I mean-” Dream shook his head, stifling another laugh rather unsuccessfully.  _ “How  _ would you help me take out Mydas? What skills would you offer me, other than knowledge of healing?”

“I’m not sure about ‘skills,’” George admitted rather sheepishly, “but I do have plenty of knowledge. Supply lines, weaknesses of the Corrupted, knowledge of high-ranking personnel, you know.”

“Would you happen to know exactly where Mydas’ fortress is, and how to get in?” Dream asked. 

George nodded. “Oh, yes! I mean- I basically lived there, for a while,” he said with a shaky laugh. 

Dream thought this through. Everything sounded good, except…

“What would you be getting out of this?” he asked. “All of those things would serve to benefit me more than you. What would you want from me?”

Georges’ eyes narrowed, a dark look crossing his face. “Haven’t I told you?” he said. “Getting my revenge, of course.”

“Of course,” Dream said. He wondered if that was the whole truth, but then he thought back to the look of burning hatred that had crossed Georges’ face and thought that maybe, just maybe, it might actually be that simple. 

George carefully extended a hand. “So, it’s a deal, then?” he asked, sounding unsure. Dream smirked and offered his own hand. 

Dream took Georges’ hand and shook it once, twice.

“It’s a deal,” he agreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Shorter chapter today. Sorry, it's not quite so interesting, I caught a bad case of writer's block and basically just needed to get it written and posted. Shenanigans and bonding time should occur in the next chapter, so there's that to look forward to. 
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for reading! Without you guys, doing this would be basically pointless, so just know that you are the reason I continue to update this story! Kudos and comments especially welcome! I really like hearing feedback on my work, and even just a small comment with your thoughts/feelings can inspire huge periods of writing and planning, so just know that every little comment is highly appreciated. Even just saying a line that you liked, your thoughts on the story so far, or telling me about a spelling/grammar mistake can be incredibly helpful! 
> 
> If you are interested, you can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/  
> I just post stupid shit and talk about fandoms mostly, so if you’re into that, I’d love for you to check it out!


	9. Preperations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys figure out their plans, and Dream is a dumbass himbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I think the next chapter should be out some time from the end of this week to Wednesday next week, but finals are coming up, so who knows.

Although he had made the deal with Dream, George was at a loss with what to do now.

He shuffled around their makeshift campground, picking up his belongings and tying them to Luca’s back. 

Dream was still sitting, waiting at the fire, watching as a lazy line of smoke drifted from it’s dying embers. The sky was the pale color of morning, welcoming in its vast blue expanse. George felt like laying down and staring up at it, closing his eyes as the clouds drifted slowly above. It was a feeling he had never experienced before at the Fortress. He assumed this was what it felt like to be relaxed. 

Luca leaned forward and let out a soft sigh. She seemed to share in this feeling of relaxation. George wasn’t sure if it was wise to feel so sluggish with a stranger only a few feet away from him, but George thought that their deal meant that they should have a certain amount of trust between them. 

He still wasn’t completely sure of the details of their deal. Yes, they were working together, but what did that mean? Would they travel together as well? And, how exactly did Dream plan to take down Mydas in the first place? George scuffed his boot against the ground, wondering if he should ask.

Dream was currently out fishing at a nearby stream. He hadn’t specifically said anything about it, but George thought that he wanted some time for himself. His dragon, Patches, was still curled up and sleepy on the other side of the campground, a large patch of golden in the soft, brush-like grasses. She looked comfortable in her slumber. 

George wanted to get moving again. Being out in the open for so long, even with the relative safety Dreams’ company provided, wasn’t something he wanted to do for much longer. According to Dream, it was about a two-days walk to get to the closest forest and subsequent town, but they couldn’t move until Patches woke up and recovered a bit. Salvia’s Splendor venom could have some nasty side effects, even in small doses. Nothing deadly, but it definitely wasn’t pleasant. Nausea, vomiting, and various muscle aches, not to mention a light fever. The symptoms could be temporarily relieved if the poisoned creature consumed a certain plant root, Silvershine Root, but those were found primarily in swamps, and as far as Dream knew, they weren’t anywhere close to one of them. 

Luca, however, was beginning to seem on edge. She had been trapped in a fortress, hidden away from the world for most of her life. George could practically feel the irritation and restlessness emanating from her lithe form. She didn’t want to be here any longer than George did. However, there wasn’t much they could do. George hoped Patches would stir in the next day, and then they could prepare to leave. Maybe make a bit of a game plan for what they wanted to do next. 

A soft rustle in the grasses a bit behind him caused George to startle, turning to see Dream approaching the makeshift camp, mask still lowered over his face. George couldn’t help but wonder why he wore it. He hadn’t yet taken it off, as far as George could tell. George thought it was a bother- it couldn’t be very comfortable, either. He wondered why Dream was so attached to the thing. It wasn’t as if it was anything special.

Dream padded past him, several small trout swinging from the line held gingerly in his left hand. He was a good enough fisher and could prepare a hearty meal, so George supposed he couldn’t complain. This was the fullest he had felt in months.

Dream crouched down across the fire from him, poking at the embers with a long stick. In his simple cloak and dark, leather gloves, he gave the impression of a hunter. George watched for a moment longer as George placed the fish on a rock, before turning away. He wasn’t the squeamish type, but something about collecting meat from fish and the like made him nauseous. The smell wasn’t too nice, either. 

George crossed over to where Luca was pacing, turning in meaningless circles, her breath huffing softly from her snout. He placed a comforting hand on her side, effectively halting her agitated pacing. She looked down at him with intelligent, reptilian eyes and chirruped softly, questioningly. 

“I know,” George murmured softly. “I don’t like getting stuck here, either. We should be able to leave in a few days.” 

Luca grumbled in response and turned her head away, her long tail flicking in agitation. George smirked. “Drama queen,” he teased softly, before turning away to face the fire, where Dream was carefully setting up the fish-cooking stand over the low fire, with several strips of fish already sizzling over the crackling coals. 

George was once again faced with the dilemma of whether or not he should bring up their plan with Dream or not. The man (boy? He didn’t seem much older than George himself) seemed to exude strange confidence that set him apart from the masses, making it difficult for George to feel comfortable approaching him. Still, he swallowed his nervousness and spoke.

“So, how exactly do you plan on taking down Mydas?” he asked, trying to keep his tone soft and interested. Dream made no indication of hearing him, continuing to poke the fire. George frowned. 

“Um,” he said. "Did you hear me? I asked-”

“I heard you,” interrupted Dream, still not looking up.

George fidgeted nervously, interlocking his fingers. “Uh, well- are you going to answer?”

Dream sighed and sat back away from the fire, finally glancing up, his mask painted orange in the light of the flames. It was unnerving, hearing his voice yet not being able to see his mouth move over the words. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he explained like it was that easy. “I’m going to go to his fortress, break in, cut his head off and save my- my king and queen,” he said. George stared at him for a moment.

“...that's it?” George asked, confounded.

“That’s it,” Dream echoed.

There was another moment of silence, in which George stood, staring, gaping at the man across from him.

“You’re not joking?” asked George faintly.

Dream finally looked up, his mask glinting against the early dawn light, the wood surprisingly clean for a traveler like him. “Why would I joke?” he asked as if he was genuinely confused about what could possibly be wrong with his statement.

George waited for three more seconds, just to make sure he wasn’t being made fun of before bursting into laughter. His body shook with the force of it, and he keeled over, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“You-you-  _ that  _ was your master plan?” George practically sobbed, rubbing his eyes as tears of laughter ran down his cheeks. “I can’t believe- you were just- just going to  _ march into his heavily guarded fortress  _ and- and-” George let out another howl of laughter, falling to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. While it was funny, it also was quite worrying. George had thought his companion was incredibly intelligent, and yet, he also seemed to be incredibly idiotic. Perhaps he just lacked common sense or self-preservation. Probably both. 

“Well, what would you do?” snapped Dream, voice a bit higher than usual. If George didn’t know any better he would have thought Dream was embarrassed. 

George took a moment to calm himself down, still kneeling on the first, wiping the last of his hysterical tears from his eyes. “I would probably gather resources, like an army or something,  _ before  _ I marched off to my death via Mydas’ very large and impressive army,” he said, a little giggle escaping him before he could stop it.

Dream once again seemed… unsure of what to do in this situation. George looked up at him from across the fire and said, “I just can’t believe-  _ that  _ was your master plan.”

Dream turned away, standing with his back towards George and the campfire. When he spoke again, his tone was sharp and defensive.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” he snapped. “I’m just- this is all new to me. I haven’t been in a situation like this before.” 

George blinked in genuine surprise, all humor forgotten. There was something small and vulnerable in Dreams’ tone, something he hadn’t heard before. Perhaps it had been hidden beneath a veneer of confidence, or maybe he really just  _ had  _ been that naive. 

Softening his tone a little, George looked away. “Yeah, it’s new to me, too,” he admitted quietly. Then, a bit louder, “You know, I can help you make a plan if you want. If we’re to be working together, then I might as well try and help out.”

Dream glanced back at George, and George wished he could see his expression underneath the mask. There was no way he could guess what Dream could possibly be considering, and that disadvantage unnerved him.

Dream spoke again, voice once again full of that leader-like confidence. “I suppose I might as well let you help,” he allowed, and George bit back a laugh. Now that he could hear that note of nervousness and youthful insecurity, it was easy to see through Dreams’ confident words. He was a bit pompous, George thought, but he was sure he could get over it.

“Okay, then,” George said. “Do you have a map? We’ll need to gather resources and allies, but we’ll have to be careful. There are several towns absolutely swarming with Corrupted, and we aren’t in the best shape right now to be able to fight them off. I think it’s better if we stay in the shadows for a while.”

“Uh… no,” Dream answered, and George let out a little sigh. 

“Do you have  _ any  _ resources that might tell us where we are?” he asked, his tone almost pleading. Dream stood for a moment, before carefully pulling something from around his neck.

“Just a compass,” he said, holding the instrument out for George to see. It glinted as it swung idly in the early sunlight. 

“That’s helpful, but not exactly what I’m looking for,” George responded. Dream easily looped the shining talisman back around his neck, hiding it beneath the long swathes of his dark cloak.

“So, what are you looking for?” Dream asked. George was unable to decipher his tone, he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or actually inquisitive- maybe sarcastic? He pursed his lips. He wasn’t good at this stuff, wasn’t used to talking like this to others. 

“Do you have any paper and writing utensils, maybe?” George asked.

“Oh, yes,” Dream said, turning to forage through his small bag. He pulled out a few folded sheets of paper and a single pencil, it’s edge dull and rough. George padded over to where Dream was standing by the fire, and plopped down, holding his hand out for the paper. Dream handed it to him after only a moment’s hesitation.

“What are you going to do?” Dream asked, and George positioned the paper on a large rock so that his drawing would be legible.

“I’m going to try and make a map of Saryn- and maybe Truica,” George answered, regarding the paper carefully. “I think I remember it mostly, especially Truica but- oh, I’m no good at remembering the names of places.”

Dream dropped down next to him, momentarily startling him. “I am,” he said, sounding proud to be helpful. “My parents made me memorize a map of the entire continent and surrounding ones when I was younger.” 

Helpful. “You’ll help me, then?” George asked.

Dream sounded scandalized as he spoke. “Of course! What, I’m not going to let you do all the work yourself. That would hardly be fair.”

George glanced up in surprise at his companion. Dream was turning out to be full of more secrets than George had imagined. How could someone with such a strong honor system and a voice that carried like a kings’ be out here, young and maybe naive, trying to take down the greatest evil in the history of Larue? Then again, George was here, too. But he had a concrete reason.

Perhaps Dream did, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Dream is an idiot in this one, but some on. Give the boy some slack. Like, his whole plan was completely motivated by getting revenge for his parents. He’s basically just a scared teenager, he’s never been in this type of situation before! He and Gogy are just scared and unsure, and not very wise, but they’ll mature with time throughout the story.  
> Also, you can pry Dream as a himbo lacking just a little bit of common sense from my cold, dead hands. (:
> 
> \-----
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for reading! Without you guys, doing this would be basically pointless, so just know that you are the reason I continue to update this story! Kudos and comments especially welcome! I really like hearing feedback on my work, and even just a small comment with your thoughts/feelings can inspire huge periods of writing and planning, so just know that every little comment is highly appreciated. Even just saying a line that you liked, your thoughts on the story so far, or telling me of a spelling/grammar mistake can be incredibly helpful! 
> 
> If you are interested, you can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/  
> I just post stupid shit and talk about fandoms mostly, so if you’re into that, I’d love for you to check it out!


	10. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more lore on Darynn! Dream is still an idiot himbo (of course) but I promise I will give him character development. I have lots in store for the boys and their relationships with each other and themselves. Also some more Patches/Dream exchanges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've officially hit 20k and we've only barely begun! I plan to update this fic every Wednesday until I get it all the way written out, at which point I will update twice a week (Wednesday and Saturday) but my plan could change according to my schedule.

Patches woke up the next day, aching and exhausted, but otherwise fine, her scales duller than ever before. Dream used to shine them once every few nights back at the palace. It was a duty usually reserved for servants, but Dreams’ father had taught that a responsible rider should know how to take care of his dragon. Now, however, he didn’t have the necessary resources to complete such a task, so she no longer glinted like she used to. 

Patches, being the proud creature she was, didn’t seem to like this, even though she was aware there was currently nothing Dream could do about it. 

At the moment, she was lying on her side, watching the going-ons of the camp, eyes narrowed into tired slits. Luca and George were across from him, settled on the ground, studying the makeshift map that they had concocted the day before. George was rubbing his eyes tiredly like he tended to do in the mornings, even though the sun was high in the sky. 

They hadn’t talked much since the day before when George had first laid on his plan. He said a lot about the details of it, but it seemed simple enough. They would travel back towards the more populated areas of Saryn, bypassing the first two towns, Acton and Emelle, and heading to a coastal town, Lowestoft, instead. According to George, it was almost completely unoccupied by the Corrupted, as it simply had very few resources that the Corrupted needed, besides maybe food, something that it still didn’t get a lot of. Dream had never been there before, but Darynn had, once. When he had come back, he had been shaking with anger.

Immediately, Darynn had departed to his fathers’ chambers to speak with him. Dream, curious and bored, had followed behind him, staying back to make sure he remained unnoticed. Darynn, in his anger, had left the door cracked open. It could only have been a few months before.

_ “Father, why have you not helped them?”  _ he could hear Darynn demanding, voice shaking with anger.  _ “The people there are sick and starving! So many have died that they had to create a brand new cemetery! While we wait and feast in this prison of a palace, our loyal subjects die! How can you ignore what is happening?” _

His fathers’ voice had been calm when he spoke. 

_ “Darynn, I know this is hard for a man such as you to understand,”  _ he had said, almost regretfully.  _ “You show so much compassion and selflessness for the people of this kingdom. But, you must understand. We are in a war, even if it does not seem that way. We need all of the resources we can get. Our soldiers-” _

_ “So you tax them wages so high that they cannot pay?”  _ Darynn had demanded.  _ “Our people are dying, and not just the ones on the battlefield. How could you turn a blind eye to their suffering?” _

His father sounded very tired as he spoke again.  _ “Darynn. This is not a decision I wanted to make. The court pressured me into it, and their reasons were good. All across the kingdom, taxes have gone up. You must understand, it is for the good of the people.” _

Darynn was not reassured.  _ “How can it be good for them if there won’t be any left by the end of this?”  _ he had demanded.  _ “I cannot let this continue to happen and just turn a blind eye. These people need help!” _

_ “Darynn, you are young and inexperienced,”  _ came his father's frustrated response.  _ “You speak as if you have the authority and judgment of a king, but you are still not much more than a boy. Please understand that there is nothing I can do.”  _

_ “Nothing you can- NOTHING you can do!?”  _ Darynn snarled. Dream had almost wanted to push the door open and peek in to see what was happening.  _ “Father, this is unacceptable! You have always taught Clay and me to be fair and considerate in all we do. How could you go against your own teachings?” _

_ “War changes things, son,”  _ his father had said. He did not tend anger easily, instead, his voice was weary with sleeplessness. Dream could hear the grating exhaustion in his tone.  _ “You must understand, I do not like this any more than you do. But at the moment, there is absolutely nothing I can do. Our troops need supplies to continue fighting this war.” _

_ “Then we should send our own food to them,”  _ argued Darynn.  _ “We feast in such excess, but we do not truly need it. There is no reason not to share-” _

_ “Darynn,”  _ came his fathers’ voice, his commanding voice, the one he used to give orders.  _ “That is enough.” _

Dream bristled. His father did not use that voice against them. He never had before.

This seemed to throw Darynn off as well.  _ “Father, I’m sorry, I just don’t understand why-” _

_ “Enough,”  _ his father had ordered.  _ “It is time for you to go.”  _

There was a beat of silence before his brother complied. Both the princes knew better than to fight against their fathers' will, but Darynn let his anger be known. He stomped from the room, robes swishing behind him, eyes narrowed in anger. He was so caught up in his own rage he didn’t even notice Dream standing there, watching meekly.

From inside his fathers’ room, there was a low, tired sigh. That was the first instance of the war bleeding into life at the palace. Many others would follow. 

If that was how the town had been before the full effects of the war came into play, Dream could only speculate what the little towns’ fate was today. It had never been incredibly important to the kingdom, but it did work as a trading port for merchants to sell their wares to visitors from far away lands. Dream wondered if sailors still came by with wares, or if they avoided the continent completely. He hoped that they did- Saryns’ coasts, especially the ones higher up on the continent, were notoriously rocky and not good for farming of any kind. 

And yet, the people of Saryn were survivors. So many people looked upon their land as one of magic and ores, full of miners and magicians, and never stopped to look closely. But Dream had seen them, had seen the compassion and courage, as well as the steadfast loyalty to their throne. Perhaps they were not the strongest of the nations, but they were hardworking and determined in what they did. Dream had always wanted to meet his people, talk to them and travel to them with Darynn, but he never had. 

Now, he supposed with some mirth, he was doing what he had always wanted. Only now, he wasn’t much more than a commoner himself. His title had been stripped the day those rumors of his untimely demise had spread through the towns like wildfire, the day he had shed his identity for a mask.

He wondered who he was now, without his royal status. He had always been confident in his identity as the second prince of Saryn, but now, the label didn’t fit. He would have to rediscover himself.

That was something he didn’t want to think about, so instead, he turned back to see where Patches was resting on the ground, eyes slightly dazed. George had assured him that her quick recovery meant she would be up and active in the coming day or so, and that they only had to be patient. Dream wanted to get on the road as quickly as possible. He couldn’t be sure if his parents would stay alive for much longer, and he hated that he couldn’t save them as quickly as he had planned to. But George was right- his plan from before was flawed. Looking back on it, he wasn’t sure why exactly he had thought it would work. 

His mother used to preach of hubris and its many consequences, but Darynn had always been closer to his parents than he had, and Dream was prone to daydream. Still, he remembered the tone and rhythm of her high, soft voice, like twinkling lights, as the Saryn accent rolled off her tongue in a sonorous melody. She would know why he had acted the way he did. Perhaps she would speak of overconfidence, or perhaps something sadder.  _ Revenge tints the mind,  _ she might say,  _ a pair of crimson glasses if you will. _

His mother always liked to compare love and war, and their many similarities. She was poetic in the way she spoke, and it was easy to see why his father had fallen for her. Unlike the king and his elder brother, her hair was long and hazelnut-blonde, and her eyes were deep green, traits she had passed on to Dream himself. Darynn only shared her complexion, fair skin, and few blemishes, unlike his fathers’ freckled visage, another trait passed onto Dream. The resemblance was uncanny in a barely noticeable way, but when they all stood next to each other, there was no mistaking it- they were family.

For this reason, Dream was a bit apprehensive concerning their trip to Lowestoft. He didn’t plan to take his mask of any time soon, but if it was taken off, or accidentally broken, he wasn’t sure if the townsfolk would see the similarity and recognize him. He wasn’t sure how much of an impact his brother had left on the townsfolk.

Crouching next to his dragon, Dream tried to gain control of his runaway thoughts. He rested his hand on Patches’ sun-warmed scales, feeling her react sluggishly to the touch under his fingers. 

“Hey, girl,” he mumbled to her, keeping his voice low and rumbly, the way that it sounds when he just wakes up. “How are you feeling?”

Patches let out a low groan and stretched out her body in a laborious manner, all shining scales and lithe form. She blinked again, slowly, and let out a soft hum. 

Dream sighed and sat all the way on the ground, pressing himself against his dragons’ side. She was warm from her internal heat, as well as the bright sunlight collecting on her scales, and Dream sighed as he laid back against her. He was glad that she was feeling better. He hadn’t realized how much he would miss her until he could no longer communicate with her. 

Dream looked across the campfire to see George and Luca studying the map. Georges’ long, brown hair was tied up into a tight little ponytail which did nothing to stop the hair from his bangs from falling across his face. It was barely long enough to fit in the tie, and Dream thought it would be painful to have such a tight ponytail for so long. He himself used to have hair that fell below his shoulders in straight, honey-gold waves. That was when he was younger, before his hair had darkened to the color it was currently. He hadn’t been trying to keep it short, but it wasn’t as if he had actively been growing it out, either. Maybe he should start again. 

George seemed to notice his gaze and looked up from where he was studying the map, brown eyes wide and unguarded. It made him look youthful and innocent, much younger than he usually did. Dream wondered what his actual age was. He himself was seventeen. He didn’t think George was much older. 

“When do you think we’ll leave?” asked Dream, relaxing against his dragon. George offered a one-armed shrug, eyes drifting back to the map. “Not sure,” he answered honestly. “Probably tomorrow but- well, I was thinking we could even move tonight if Patches is up for it.” He glanced up again. “Luca’s getting restless.”

Luca huffed in agreement, pulling herself to her feet. She was a beautiful creature, long and lithe and not quite as big as Patches with silvery-grey scales and pale green eyes. Dark horns adorned her head, sharp and winding, giving her an invincible air. She looked like an empress of sorts, untouchable and indomitable, a weathered war veteran in her time. As far as Dream could tell, she was a Whisper dragon, which was quite rare. Dream wondered where George had found her. 

“I can understand that,” Dream acknowledged. “I don’t like staying in one place for too long, either. It puts me on edge.”

George didn’t respond to that, so they lapsed into silence once more. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, at least, not as much as before, but Dream still was urged to fill it with sound, talk without really speaking just to offset the pressing stillness.

“So, will we?” he asked.

George frowned. “‘Will we’ what?” he asked faintly, not really paying attention.

“Leave tonight?” Dream clarified.

“Uh, only if Patches is up for it,” George said, still only half-listening. That was good enough for Dream. He leaned back into Patches’ warm embrace and started up a conversation with her. When he was feeling especially idle, it was nice to be able to talk with her. 

_ How are you feeling right now?  _ He asked, turning his face into her side. He saw George’s eyes flick up for a moment, studying the pale expanse of skin that was shown, before forcibly staring back down at the paper again. Patches seemed to notice, too

_ He looks at you a lot,  _ she replied, ignoring his original question.  _ Especially when you are not looking at him. When you do look at him, he doesn’t meet your eyes. _

_ I’m enigmatic,  _ Dream responded flippantly, eyeing George once again.  _ He’s obviously interested in figuring me out. _

_ Maybe,  _ Patches allowed.  _ But I don’t think that’s all it is. _

_ What else, then?  _ Dream asked.

_ Your presence seems to make him… nervous,  _ Patches thought.  _ Or, no- I think it makes him on edge. I’m not sure if it’s you, or if it’s because he’s used to watching his back. Perhaps both. _

Dream thought about that. George was a bit shifty around him. Dream had just been dismissing it as paranoia, perhaps a side-effect from being part of the Corrupted, but maybe it was something more. George was incredibly careful around him like he was afraid that one wrong move might get him reprimanded, or maybe worse. What were the secrets that tainted his past? 

_ He is right to be careful,  _ Dream finally answered.  _ There is no reason for him to trust me fully. Nor I, him. _

_ He seems good enough,  _ Patches snorted.  _ He helped me. And you. I do not think he is motivated by darkness.  _

_ What, then you like him?  _ Dream joked.

Patches huffed.  _ Yes. He gave me a sugar lump when I woke up,  _ she said proudly, and Dream could only snort in amusement.  _ Also, it is nice to have another dragon here. She does not talk to me a lot, but I can tell she is trustworthy. She would do anything for the boy. _

_ That’s good, then,  _ Dream thought back. 

_ Yes. Very. Now, are you going to rub my back? My muscles are very sore,  _ Patches complained, and Dream let out a soft laugh. It seemed their conversation was done for the time being. Twisting around, he began to work the rough muscles of Patches’ neck and back, smiling as she sighed in satisfaction. 

\---

The night came quickly, spread in dragons’ wings as Patches shakily pulled herself to her feet and did a few circles around camp. Luca watched her, wary yet without fear. 

Dream was glad to see Patches getting back to her old, energetic self. She paced a few more times, stretched out her wings, and tilted her head to the sky, her long neck extending outwards as she took in the rising moon. She easily spread her wings, long and stretched out around herself, before she leaped into the sky, a flash of golden scales in a deep void of dusk blue. 

She circled high above them a few times, just to prove that she could, before swooping and diving, down, down, angling her wings up at the last second to bring herself gliding back into the stars at a break-neck pace. 

Dream closed his eyes and savored the feeling of her freedom and joy. He had flown a couple of times, mostly using his father or brothers’ dragon, and it had been amazing, yes, but he saw how joyous it could be to share a bond with the creature that you were flying with. The combined excitement and adrenaline pounding through your veins as you leaned closer, effortlessly cooperating with your dragon to choose where to go, how fast to fly, and what height to fly at. Dream yeared to be able to fly on Patches’ back, feeling the wind whipping the hair from his face, wished to fall with her, glide with her. Flying was one of the closest experiences you could have with your dragon. 

Patches was getting there, of course, but he thought she should finish up growing for a few more months before he braved his first flying lesson with her. His brother had taught him how to fly at a young age, so he wasn’t too worried about that, but other complications could arise, like the change of weight making it more difficult for the dragon to take off or land, leading to injuries and the like. Dream wanted to make sure she was ready before he attempted anything like that. So for now, he simply watched. 

Patches flew around a little bit more, before settling on the ground, shaking herself out. She padded over to where Dream stood, watching her, his pack slung over one arm and he prepared to leave. Patches was looking better, so Dream had decided that they might as well get something of a head start on their way to Lowestoft. Both of the dragons were getting restless, even though Patches had been out cold less than twenty-four hours prior. Dream was getting restless, too. He wasn’t the type to stay in one place for very long. Even back at the palace, he had been constantly moving, sword-fighting with his brother in the gardens or running through the halls of the castle, stealing pastries from plates in the kitchens. How carefree he had been, Dream reflected. How assured of his identity. Back then, he never would have seen  _ this  _ coming. He wouldn’t have even considered it a possibility.

From somewhere nearby, the sound of George and Luca returning to camp after a bit of light hunting reached Dreams’ ears. Patches perked up a bit too, turning her head just in time to see Luca bound into their little campground, rabbit held triumphantly yet carefully in her mouth. A bit behind her, George followed, his own prey (a few more rabbits) slung over his shoulder. His eyes immediately found Dreams- or, where they would have been, if not for the mask.

“So, we’re heading out then?” he asked in that peculiar accent.

Dream half-shrugged. “Yeah,” he said. “Patches is still kind of weak, but she can walk. Besides, she doesn’t want to stay here any longer. She says it smells bad.” 

Patches snorted in agreement and George let out a little laugh, a bell-like sound. The sound tugged at the corners of Dreams’ mouth, pressing a smile onto his face. With some surprise, he realized that it was the first time he had smiled sincerely since his flight from the palace. 

“Well, that’s that then,” Dream declared. “If we need to stop, we will. Let’s travel for as long as we can, and make camp when we have to.” 

George nodded in agreement. “Give me a second to collect all of my things and we can head out.” 

Dream watched as George gathered his things, carefully securing them to Luca’s back, who was waiting patiently on the edge of the campsite. Dream stood, leaning heavily on his left leg as he watched, thinking. There was so much about their future that was unsure, but this seemed like a good start. He didn’t think he could quite trust him yet, but at the very least, he could rely on him in a tight spot. And at the moment, that was all he could ask for. 

As soon as George finished securing his things on his dragons’ back, they two set out, trudging into the long grass, back towards the towns and their people. Dream hadn’t thought he’d be heading back so soon, at least not without his parents. Yet, he didn’t feel as defeated as he did the day before. Now, he had a plan for his objective- a very shaky, unsure plan, but a plan all the same- and a comrade to share his journey with. He couldn’t know exactly how long it would take, but he had sworn that he would save his parents, and he wasn’t giving up on that plan, not now, not ever. So he was taking a detour. It was smarter this way. 

The night stretched over them as they walked in a swirl of speckled lights and moonshine. In the bleached light, Georges’ pale skin shone. Dream hadn’t noticed before how pale George was, as if he hadn’t spent much time outside. In fact, for a past Corrupted soldier, he seemed strangely inexperienced with real life. As if he had the knowledge for how to interact in the real world but wasn’t quite sure how to successfully implement it. 

George was incredibly interesting. A puzzle. Darynn had always been the planner, the one who figured out problems and fixed them. He was smart and well-known, loved through-out the kingdom. 

Who was Dream? What was he good at? He had never really had to face the reality of who he was because he had only ever had to be the second prince, nothing more. He racked his brain. He was good at… sword fighting. Hunting. Staying calm in tough situations.

Dream recalled words his mother had spoken to him once, words that had never seemed important until now. 

_ “You live in Darynns’ shadow, Clay,”  _ his mother had said.  _ “And that’s not a bad thing. But you are your own person, and one day, you will have to discover yourself.” _

Dream had thought it a callous thing to say. His mother had always been slightly removed from her family, cold in a way that only the reigning queen could be. She was his father’s right hand, the planner, the impulse control. She had taught Dream chess, though he had never been able to win against her. She was just too good. He had beaten Darynn a lot, however. Maybe that was a skill? He wasn’t sure how that could help him in real life, however. 

He was also pretty good at card games, now that he thought about it. It seemed strangely inadequate, however. 

How could Dream ever lead a country when his best skills were chess and card games? He wasn’t even as good at sword fighting as his father. He glared at the ground, feeling terribly unqualified for something that was never supposed to be his birthright. 

Patches, sensing his sudden mood change, turned and pressed her body to his side, letting out a little growl of reassurance. Dream sighed and leaned into her, allowing a single moment for him to show weakness.

Then, he continued on, George and the dragons padding just a bit behind him. 

\---

They settled in a little campground when George was getting too tired to walk in a straight line. Dream took the first watch, letting George settle down onto the ground, not bothering to unpack. Luca curled around him, rumbling comfortingly. Patches curled onto the ground as well, and let her eyes flicker back and forth. She was still extremely worn out from her brush with the Corrupted “recruiter” as George had referred to him. 

Dream settled onto the ground as well, deciding to veto a campfire, as they couldn’t be sure how close to civilization they were and didn’t want to advertise their position to anyone that might be nearby. Instead, he looked up at the sky, at the millions of brilliant lights, the moon in all of its glory, curled and waning. With a bit of hesitation, he reached up and pushed his mask out of his face, sighing as the cool, night air rushed in against his sweaty skin. He glanced over, just to make sure that George was still completely out of it. Reassured, he leaned back and let himself enjoy this simple moment of quiet consideration.

Darynn used to say that the stars made him feel inconsequential, insignificant. Dream couldn’t agree. When he looked at the stars, he felt only awe. There were so many of them, and the sky was so big, yes, but to Dream, it was full of endless possibilities. He couldn’t be sure what exactly was out there- nobody could- so he could understand why Darynn might be intimidated or scared. But all of that space… he closed his eyes, breathing out a soft hum. His mother had loved the stars. His father had a tower built for her just so that she could be closer to them. She mapped them out on large pieces of paper and would tell Dream fantastical stories about them. It was the only time she would ever become real, genuine, not cold and regal. Darynn was never interested, but Dream was. Eventually, as he got older, he stopped visiting her as much, until he barely did at all. There was a point where he may have seen her as a real mother and not just the queen. He wished he could still remember what that felt like. 

As Dream surveyed the skies above him, his eyelids fluttered. He knew he was supposed to stay awake, but… wouldn’t it be so much nicer if he just…

For a moment, everything was silent and perfect, and Dream let his eyes close. 

Then, a rustle sounded in the thick grasses nearby. Dream frowned, opening up one eye, wondering what it could be. He saw nothing, but he still sat up, rubbing his eyes. How long had he been out? It had only been a second, right?

The low sound of something fast speeding through the air, a quiet whistle, caught his ear. Dream looked up, still sleep-hazy, as an arrow landed in the grass near the camp. It waited there for a moment, the night frozen against it. Then, suddenly, it burst into flames. Dream flinched back at the loud noise, bringing his hands up before his face, as the grass in front of him caught fire from the sparks glittering on the ground.

Dream froze, hand still by his eyes, mask still pushed to the side. Near him, Patches stirred, sluggishly. 

Well, shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ponytail George (:  
> Also, Dream's exchange with Patches was an absolute treat to write. I can't wait for the boys to be comfortable enough around each other to have such relaxed conversations. Some edgy lines, too? "WHaT wERe tHe SeCrEtS tHaT tAiNtEd hIs PAsT?" lmao
> 
> As always, thank you so, so much for reading! Without you guys, doing this would be basically pointless, so just know that you are the reason I continue to update this story! Kudos and comments especially welcome! I really like hearing feedback on my work, and even just a small comment with your thoughts/feelings can inspire huge periods of writing and planning, so just know that every little comment is highly appreciated. Even just saying a line that you liked, your thoughts on the story so far, or telling me of a spelling/grammar mistake can be incredibly helpful! 
> 
> If you are interested, you can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/  
> I just post stupid shit and talk about fandoms mostly, so if you’re into that, I’d love for you to check it out!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos and comments highly appreciated! You do not know how invested in the story your comments make me, and even the smallest things can cause great, big stretches of writing. Even if you aren't sure what to say, just comment something. I'm a sucker for praise and I like knowing that people enjoy my writing. Criticism is allowed, but only if you are doing it to actually help me in my writing abilities and not just tear me down. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and would love to know your thoughts.


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